Ghosts of the Past
by Jay Motley
Summary: Men are born into violence with war as second nature. There is no escaping it. When Severus is forced back to the UK and under the protection of a neurotic Hermione Granger, it will be a test of nerve and trust as their pasts come to wreak havoc once more.
1. Esther Estate

**Chapter I - Esther Estate**

The dark estate loomed over Godric's Hallow atop a far-off hill, where a spiraling path snaked its way to the high gates that enclosed it. It was out of place for the quaint hamlet and had remained uninhabited for nearly two decades, causing many whispers and countless myths told among the children. Some of the local teens saw the fortress as a rite of passage and took to breaking in over the course of time only to be driven out by lack of nerve. Ghosts, they had said; ghouls and banshees resided on the acres of land and inside the mahogany walls. Wails of agony could supposedly be heard down the way from it on only the coldest nights.

Severus Snape barreled up hill to Esther Estate through knee high snow and whipping wind. He was unfortunate enough to be travelling on one of the coldest nights and was even more unfortunate to hear the wails legend foretold, though he knew better. His travel mate struggled behind him in the winter storm but he beckoned her on and held out a gloved hand for the older witch. She huffed in pride, shaking her head but ultimately accepted guidance over the forever building snow.

"I do not understand why she insists on the collection of charms cast over this godforsaken place," said Snape through clenched teeth. They stumbled for a moment but upon seeing the warm light of fire lit through the windows of the estate, they quickened their steps to the gate. He glanced over at his comrade.

Minerva McGonagall stood straight after her long journey, dusted the snow off her glasses and laid a wrinkled hand over the key hole of the gate. The gate, clad in iron floral, quivered for a moment before opening with a creak. Snape started through behind the headmistress until she paused and gave him a solemn look.

"The girl is not the same witch you have known, Severus," said McGonagall. She turned and pressed on. Snape, not acknowledging her words, gazed up at the massive arched doors and a tightness seized his chest at their familiarity. They were like the doors to Hogwarts, doors to a place he had once called home. Memories flooded him like a dam with flashing images of the time he spent there...and then the clock tower, and the battle. His jaw tightened as he pushed the unwanted images further in his subconscious.

The former colleagues could hear the latches thud from the other side of the door and it opened. A pale face engulfed by wild curls appeared, large eyes taking them in cautiously. When convinced, the witch pulled the doors, stood aside and vaguely bobbed her head inward. Snape and McGonagall exchanged uncomfortable glances, not unseen by the girl's watchful eyes. She sighed.

"Come in. It's fine," she said, offering a small half smile. It didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Miss Granger-"

"Hermione," she corrected her former Transfiguration teacher. McGonagall paused for a moment, unsure.

"Hermione," she began again. "I cannot express how thankful I am-we _all_ are-for accepting this responsibility. Rest assured, it would not have been asked of you if it were not necessary. If you were not capable."

The young witch nodded quietly, arms crossed and eyes bouncing from the equally quiet wizard to McGonagall. Snape's eyes adjusted to the dimly lit study Hermione had guide them to and his body finally thawed and resumed composure. He eyed his former pupil: she looked the same, perhaps thinner than he last remembered, although her hair had tamed a bit and her teeth finally buck-less. But her presence was different entirely, he could feel it the moment she fixated on them in the door way. Like a cat, blank and expressionless other than large and analyzing eyes that seemed to hold no warmth, only uncertainty. He noticed she stood like a statue and her back was stiff and nails lightly dug into her own arms. Their eyes met for a moment.

"I'll do whatever is required of me, Headmistress McGonagall." Her voice drawled in an unfamiliar way and almost held resentment. Perhaps Potter coerced her into this agreement. Perhaps it wasn't out of the goodness of her heart, at all.

The headmistress laid a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder and it was obvious she tensed under her touch. "Shall we start then?" Snape's brow furrowed at the exchange between the two witches. A figure then emerged from the hall, tracking slush with every step and shaking off snow. Hermione turned with a jump, seemingly caught by surprise by her new visitor.

"Harry?" asked Hermione in a confused voice. The boy wonder gave her a brief smile and embrace before turning to the rest. His eyes scanned over Snape for a moment and the old Potions Master felt the impulse to clobber him. He was perfectly content in his solitude; why the _hell_ did he allow Potter to convince him otherwise?

"Sorry for being late, but I'm ready if you are, Professor McGonagall," he replied. Harry offered his arm to Hermione, cuffing his hand around her wrist; she responded accordingly and took a deep breath. Professor McGonagall anchored her wand at their union.

It was all too familiar.

"Minerva, just what do you think you are doing?" asked Snape, rising taller with a deep inhale and stepping closer. He knew what this was.

"I am sorry, Severus, but this is the only way. Miss Granger knows the consequences," answered Minerva, her eyes not wavering from the young woman or Harry. "Potter was sure you would not cooperate with these conditions. I would have been a recipient if we felt you would play nicely… but that is why the boy is here now."

Magic pooled out from the headmistress' wand and wove around Harry and Hermione's linked arms, pulsating softly. Snape could not believe his eyes; anger simmered deep in his belly and before he knew it, he had Harry yoked by the collar. They did not disconnect but Harry steadied his ground and met Snape's fiery gaze. How could this boy prove to be stupid time and time again?

"You know not what you are doing! You are just as foolish as you ever been, Potter!" spat the man, his grip so tight around Harry's collar that his fingers began losing circulation. A strange force began pushing him back against his heels, out from their circle. The force vibrated with power, though calm, and settled into an invisible wall around the three, keeping Snape at bay. Instinctively, he shot a curse at this unusual barrier and watched as it was absorbed and disappeared. _What sort of magic…_

Minerva and Harry adjusted their attention to Hermione Granger, who nodded in affirmation to continue. The old witch cleared her throat. "As your Bonder, I will negotiate your conditions and perform the spell that will hold you to them." She paused, looking once more at Hermione then to Harry. "Your conditions, Potter."

"Hermione...I need you to swear that you will protect Severus Snape at all costs. Things are different now...the wizarding world is still not safe. We need him. I-I.." Harry rambled, trailing off. He could see a furious Snape sending spells their way from the corner of his eye, just to be sucked in by the charm. He looked at his friend, worn yet standing; he thought of all the experiences that brought them there, that he asked of her and Ron Weasley. He remembered her sacrifices and the stories she only spoke of once before locking them deep within herself. Harry became unsure as he took her in, but she squeezed his arm tightly with pursed lips and a knitted brow to ground him once more. "You are his guardian, his care taker. You will house him; you cannot compromise these terms, even under the Cruciatus Curse."

"Do you accept these terms?" asked Minerva in a careful tone. The spell pulsated almost audibly now, glowing with each beat.

 _Why are they doing this? Why is this stupid girl agreeing to this?!_

She spoke.

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, swear to uphold the Unbreakable Vow: to protect and serve Severus Snape, even at the cost of my own life; I will not compromise his livelihood, even when tortured. To fail is to die."

The vow's energy snaked around and once dissipated, the two friends unlinked arms. The mysterious force that kept Snape feet away was released and he stormed over with his wand still at the ready. He was angry; he pushed Harry into a sofa and held his wand at the young man's throat, absolutely seething. McGonagall stepped to intervene.

Snape's voice was venomous and full of daggers. "You may as well have sentenced us to death!"


	2. The Unbreakable Vow

**II**

Hermione could still feel the magic coursing through her body, the air in her lungs ice cold. Her heart was beating so erratically—it was probably the most alive she has felt in a long time. It's been eight years since the Battle of Hogwarts and still the world was in shambles and nowhere close to full recovery; sympathizers for the dark cause hung around like heavy fog throughout the wizarding community and reminded Hermione every day of the horrors burned in her memory. The ones she cannot quite shake. The broken and mangled bodies of her classmates that lay sprawled around the ruined grounds of the castle were just the tip of the iceberg and failed in comparison to the worst of it. She shook off the awful nostalgia and assisted Minerva in separating the warring men.

"Harry, stand down," warned Hermione as she wedged her way between him and Snape, pushing his wand down and ushering him away. McGonagall pulled the former professor back and he tensed. His lip was pursed in a thin line as he stared at Hermione and Harry down his crooked nose. His chest rose with a deep breath and he turned on Minerva.

"You lied to me; this arrangement was supposed to be temporary, Minerva, but now the stupid girl and I are bound," he seethed. "And for what? For the inevitable finality that will be our deaths because there is no way _she_ can uphold this vow."

Hermione interjected, in that same voice that was not hers. "Rest assured, I am not exactly thrilled about this either, let alone have you under my roof."

The coolness in the girl's voice was almost unbearable, so alien. It was quick and sharp. Harry gave her a nervous sideways glance which she returned, crossing her arms. Severus raised a brow at the Boy Who Lived who seemed on edge with his old friend, as if this was the last place on earth he wanted to be and if Hermione were the last person he wanted to challenge. There was a great distance between them and the girl kept herself very composed in her invisible bubble; even Minerva seemed put off by the witch's callousness. He was right, of course, Hermione Granger was persuaded into this, there was no other way. Although his name was cleared after the war, he was still a hunted man. After the war, deserters and traitors to Voldemort's cause were either taken for questioning by the Ministry and ultimately imprisoned at Azkaban, or they were hunted by whatever ranks were left and found dead. Those who remained in hiding still wanted Snape's head. He had heard Lucius Malfoy was the first amongst the Dark Lord's ranks to be prosecuted by the Ministry of Magic, and Kingsley Shacklebolt sentenced him to a life amongst the dementors. His name was vilified in every wizard journal; some conspired that he led the new wave of neo-elitists, though that was later silenced when more and more attacks stirred, and death tolls rocketed. There was just simply no way he could command so much loyalty when, in the original Death Eaters' eyes, he was a coward; without a scapegoat to explain the darkness that still ensued, the world was worried. Naturally, the spotlight fell on Snape, despite the Ministry's ruling. To most people, he is still the man who killed Albus Dumbledore. Of course, he did, but he was not that man, anymore.

He could see that this was a bad idea: it was a poorly thought out, equally poorly executed, and incredibly selfish plan. He knew what manipulation was, all too well; he knew what being used looked like, what sacrifice was. Nothing good could come from this. Severus Snape was a realistic man, and he could see every future imaginable because of this, all dark and full of blood.

"Look," began Harry, stashing away his wand. He was older now, broader in stature and boyish features gone. "Snape… we owe you a great debt. Everything that we managed to do back then was because of you, and because of Dumbledore. The Order wants to protect you, and this is the only way."

"Sentimental, are we?" said Severus in a familiar drawl. "By protect, you mean 'use to your advantage', naturally."

"Severus, the Order wants to give reparations. There are no ulterior motives to this, I can assure you," said the Headmistress, patting him on the shoulder. Her eyes looked out the window and saw the snow not easing. "Potter, perhaps we should go and allow Severus to settle in his…new home. The weather isn't letting up and you and I are needed at the Ministry in the morning."

"You can use the floo," Hermione said, signaling to the vase full of powder beside her fire place. Minerva and Harry exchanged looks that made Hermione scoff. "I'm not lifting the protective charms. Either the floo or you'll be treading the storm again." There were no arguments. Minerva squeezed Hermione's shoulder one last time and gave her an encouraging nod before taking a handful of floo and making her way back to Hogwarts. Harry lingered a little while longer, looking between two very difficult people right now as if deciding which poison to swallow. "What is it, Harry?"

Harry turned his back on a still seething Snape who stood like a black gargoyle ready to snuff out the slightest glimmer of happiness. He drew close on Hermione and held her hands. His warmth resonated up her arms and she could feel slight tremors over her body.

"'Mione…" She pulled her hands back and cuffed them, staring up at her friend and shaking her head. "Thank you, for this, for everything. If you need help—" his eyes rolled back at Snape "—if you need _anything_ , you know where to find me and Ginny."

"I'll let you know," lied the witch. Harry nodded and grabbed a handful of the dark soot.

"Let me know about next week, okay? Ginny and James have been asking for you."

With that, he was engulfed by green flames and vanished from sight.

Hermione sighed and ran an anxious hand through her curls before turning to her guest. She forced a smile, trying to be positive.

"Where are your things?" asked Hermione.

"Tomorrow," is all he said. She nodded and began walking down the hall. He didn't move.

"Come. I'll show you to your room." Hermione ushered her old Potions Master down the dimly lit hall. There were paintings he did not recognize on the wall, ones that did not move, between oil lamps that cast shaking shadows on the wood floors. The hall was L shaped and she turned right and continued until they came to two doors. One opened with a small creak and revealed a spacious room with more paintings, some of which he recognized as Muggle work; high arched windows with Victorian molding let moonlight shine on the grand bed and empty book cases. It was richer than what Snape was accustomed to. "Your room. Everything's empty for when your belongings come; I left the bookcase bare, because I figured you'd have use of it. The door beside it leads to your wash room. I'm usually awake by eight o'clock, the latest, if you need anything; I'll get together breakfast at that time, too."

"The Brightest Witch of her Age, domesticated?" mocked Severus. "Your professors would be _greatly_ disappointed."

She crossed her arms and hung her head to the side with a stale expression. Without a word, Hermione turned heel and started up the hall, oil lamps blowing out with every step. Snape was left with a familiar friend: darkness.


	3. Powder Keg

**III**

Snape woke to the smell of fresh bread, a gentle release from his slumber. It has been a while since he was in the comfort of a warm bed and home; his house was demolished after his absence post-War, whether by realtors who thought him dead or sympathizers who hoped he was still residing there when it happened. He was living in seclusion for longer than he thought that the world had settled into this idea that he had _something_ to hide: "Well, if the Ministry excused him why is he missing?" "They were wrong, he's a traitor." That was until Harry Potter and his aptitude for interfering found him in the woods of Bavaria; how he managed, Snape would never know. But perhaps he would use Legilimens on him one day, out of curiosity.

The smell grew stronger. The man sat up and his feet met soft rug and he sighed, his elbows on his knees and fingers linked under his chin. He was irritated, and a looming feeling of uncertainty swelled deep at his core. He just felt wrong. Snape decided to take on the day, bounding to his washroom and setting the faucet; he paused, catching a glimpse of himself in the large floor length mirror. He had aged greatly from his time serving the Dark Lord and squeezed under Dumbledore's thumb. His black hair was inches longer and his beard was growing thick; his skin was discolored in places where he had frost bite during his refuge in the unforgiving German winter, and between the scars accumulated from duels he probably should have died in. Snape's hand trailed up his abdomen to his neck, where the scars were most prominent: four large teeth mark for each vicious attack—six separate strikes—and one long gash through his jugular. Yes, he most definitely should have died.

Slipping into the scalding bath, he reminisced.

 _There was a burning hot blaze against his neck, and Severus Snape fell into an ungraceful heap against the wall of the Shrieking Shack._

 _"Nagini...kill!"_

 _One strike, two strike, three strike, fourfivesix_

 _He could feel his blood pool around him, dampening his cloaks and leaving him lifeless. Darkness crept at the corners of his eyes as he watched Voldemort apparate with the giant snake. This was it. Snape closed his eyes and welcomed death like an old friend, losing consciousness. He saw_ her _, of course, and her red tendrils and sad smile welcoming him. She wasn't alone: a familiar old man peered at him through half-moon spectacles; the brooding face of Eileen Prince floated vaguely, of what he remembered his Mother to once look like._

 _I'm coming, Lily…_

 _Snape felt cold, sticky hands press down on his throat that caused him to inhale sharply. Opening his eyes, he saw the Golden Trio, not at all what he expected nor wanted. He was met with heartbreakingly lovely eyes attached to a replica of a man that disgusted him, though they were fervent and unsure. He spoke, but Snape could barely make sense of it all._

 _"-mione...something…anything..."_

 _All was black, and silent, and surprisingly, warm._

Severus jumped as if he was reliving the moment again, causing a bit of bath water to splash on the floor. Enough was enough, back to reality. He clothed himself, still damp, and followed the scent down the hall and stairs. He glanced around and saw the main doors to Esther Estate that he entered the night prior. To the right was the parlor where that awful Unbreakable Vow was put in place, and he could see the glow of the fire once more.

"Miss Granger?" he spoke, entering yet seeing nothing but scattered books and parchment on the coffee table, a thick blanket sprawled on the loveseat. Stepping out, he took a good look at the grandeur of this estate. Dark wood stairs curved up the walls on either side leading to the second floor where the hallway was split by a giant painting of a woman that gazed over the foyer. Light shone through the arched windows just above the entrance, creating rainbows through the old chandelier that hung. He wondered how the girl came in ownership of such a grand though enigmatic manor. "Miss Granger?" He raised his voice to carry. Doors then slid into the walls at the midway point in the ground floor hall and Hermione appeared, leaning lazily against the new entryway.

"Your possessions are here, sir, just in the dining room," she said, disappearing in the room once again. His lips curled at her evident lack of manners as he stalked in and accounted his belongings beside the table. The dining room broke off into the kitchen which was far more modern than the rest of the estate, with French doors the only thing between it and the harsh winter outside. Hermione set pastries on the island alongside fresh rolls, sausages and juice. There were bar stools there, and she ushered him to sit. The air was awkward, but he begrudgingly sat. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Miss Granger—"

"I apologize for being so harsh last night, sir," interrupted he young girl as she passed him a plate. She scoffed. "Although you were being terribly unappreciative and uncooperative."

"Excuse me? What did you—"

"But I understand," she interjected once more with a sigh. "I understand why you are unhappy about it. I will do my best to uphold this agreement."

"That is the second time you interrupted me, Miss Granger," said Severus in an annoyed tone. "You understand nothing. Perhaps, in time, you shall realize that. There is still a war going on, you silly girl, and naturally you insufferable _children_ put yourselves in the middle of it."

Hermione seemed to have barely heard him, which only further irritated the man. She brought up a crystal decanter from below the counter with two glasses filled with ice. Tilting the decanter's mouth toward him, she asked, "Would you like a drink?"

Severus frowned. "It isn't quite noon yet, Miss Granger." Disapproving, as always. She shrugged and poured herself half a glass, absently swirling her finger in the Firewhiskey and ice.

"I'll need you to train me better in the Dark Arts, if you don't mind."

"I do mind, Miss Granger," replied Snape in a flat tone.

She raised a brow and took a mouthful of her drink. "Pity. It's honestly the only way I can protect you."

"I do not need protecting, stupid girl; I am far more superior in the arts than you could possibly imagine. Besides, I would have expected an Auror as yourself would already be talented in the arts…then again…"

"That is not my life anymore," said Hermione, quietly. Her big brown eyes bore holes through Snape's head, empty and cold. His brow quirked up. "Those days are behind me."

"It wasn't that long ago, from what I gather. Are you that inadequate of a witch that the teachings have left your small mind already?" He was unforgiving.

Hermione blinked several times before snorting and breaking into laughter. She slumped in her chair and held her head up by a hand that squashed her cheek, grinning with humor and spinning her glass of Firewhiskey. "Oh, _please,_ Snape," she drawled unfamiliarly, "You and I both know I am the most capable student you have ever encountered. If there is anyone who can protect you…it's me."

Snape did not speak. He was taken aback by the girl's almost maniac outburst and simply stared down at her. She was unlike the eager know-it-all he reluctantly taught at Hogwarts and carried herself in a manner he could not quite place. Hollow and cool, with newfound narcissism that was almost fit for a Slytherin. She was right, he knew. Regardless of her quarter life and change spent on this earth, Hermione surpassed most witches and wizards that walked through the same stone walls of Hogwarts centuries before her. The only difference was that now she knew so, and she was self-assured. A potentially dangerous state.

Hermione stood suddenly, her face free of laughter and her mouth recomposed in a flat line.

"Come, I have something to show you."

"I rather not, Miss Granger."

She frowned. "It's important that you understand."

Severus knew that the girl would not take no for an answer and reluctantly followed her out the kitchen and through the dining area until they were at the main hall once again, although this time she beckoned him opposite of his room. She waved her wand and a door appeared. As she opened it candles ignited the unknown room and the door dissolved behind them. Snape, ever paranoid, grasped his wand and leaned against the wall, surveying his surroundings. His hand lowered as more candles lit the windowless room, granting his eyes enough light to swallow what was there.

Dark objects.

Glass cabinets lined the walls in their entirety, filled with all sorts of foreign and dark oddities: shrunken heads, different size teeth and amulets that hummed in a way that they almost spoke. There were body parts of creatures in jars filled with formaldehyde staggered on tables and the floors alongside towers of equally dark books in different languages; crystals and other stones hung from hooks, and Snape could have sworn one locket looked very familiar. He gingerly walked through the maze of unfavorable objects, cautious not to accidentally graze anything that could kill him in an instant.

"Well, Miss Granger, I can easily say that I am once again impressed by the foolishness you never fail to exhibit," said Severus, turning to her. She shrugged nonchalantly, arms crossed. "And by that I am saying that you are an imbecile and do not fully grasp the magnitude of danger you have sitting right beside your kitchen."

Hermione was on him in very few steps, peering up at him like the eager learner he knew, though a little crazed.

"You're still not understanding, Professor," she began, touching an amulet that glowed orange then white as it began singeing her finger tips. "Aurors are taught how to _think_ like dark witches and wizards, but they do not learn how to _be_ them."


	4. Sparks

**A/N: Hello all! I was so excited publishing the first three chapters of this last week before my vacation in Rome that I forgot to add an author's note. Here it is! This is my first fanfiction. I've been working on it for a few months now. There's about twelve chapters already done for this story so far, and I have a fair amount of planning set it stone as well. Updates should be weekly. Thanks for everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed so far!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or story lines created by J.K Rowling**

 **Rating: This is a dark fanfiction. There will be adult themes, sexual content, language, and triggering scenarios. I will do my best to signal when a chapter may be particularly uncomfortable.**

 **Chapter 4 – Sparks**

"You are mad," said Severus in disbelief. _What was wrong with this girl?,_ he thought as he pressed her back, _Has this room caused her madness?_

"I am not," she said simply, shrugging her small shoulders. Hermione studied his face, brows together and she retreated with his every step. _There it was again, yet another drop of demeanor_ , he thought. She absently rubbed her forearm and her head dropped, staring up at her superior through long lashes from a face almost hidden in her mane. Her prior confidence was almost instantly submissive. Snape pressed her against the wall with hands on either side of her head, towering down like a dark horse, and brought his face so close to hers he could almost taste the Firewhiskey off her breath. She did not break eye contact, she did not back down or cower; but, she was still.

"Do not test me, Miss Granger," breathed Snape dangerously, not freeing the girl. One bloody day and they were already at each other's throats.

"I…"she began, then swallowed and stood straight. She forced him back with small but surprisingly strong hands, and Snape could swear he felt a little magic help her along the way. He staggered back. "I. Am. NOT. Mad!" She shoved him again, a little harder this time. He could tell by her solid voice and unwavering glare that Hermione was not backing down; before he knew it, she whipped her wand out and targeted him. He returned her stance. "Do not mock me, Severus Snape, you know my request is valid. _You_ of all people knowthe bloodbath that ensues when one is not prepared—not properly _equipped_ with the right knowledge."

"And that is exactly why I refuse to teach you a damn thing!" bellowed Snape. Never has he been faced with such gull, such blatant cheek. His frustration swelled like a hot air balloon as they advanced once again at each other. "I do not know what it is you wish to accomplish, Granger, but you are undoubtedly _unhinged,_ which gives more reason for my refusal."

She disarmed him in the heat of the moment, his solid black wand landing promptly in her grasp. Snape stiffened, uncertain of the girl's next move. He did not see her flourish her wand; no spell escaped its core nor rebounded. He watched as she relaxed momentarily, smacking his wand into her palm in what appeared to be deep and conflicting though.

"I need to know what you know," said Hermione softly, twirling his wand. "I don't plan on dying any time soon, sir, whether because I failed to protect you or successfully sacrificed my life for yours." She paused. "I am not…tainted."

He saw it again, a glimpse of the school girl he taught nine years ago, pathetic and sad and honest. Sometimes, too honest. Snape frowned at her and held his hand out, tapping his foot impatiently. Reluctantly, she placed his wand in his palm and he quickly snatched it away.

"We will see about that." He took a wary glance around the room. "Has thievery been added to your resume of newly acquainted theatrics, because it looks as though you have more than half of Borgin & Burke's in this room…"

"No. I've simply acquired a hobby, is all."

"The Dark Arts is now a hobby, is it?" pressed Snape with a raised brow. He circled the collection of amulets and jewels, speaking to Hermione through a row of oddities. He knew better than to touch, however enticing their whispers and songs were.

"After the Battle, I travelled," explained Hermione, taking a seat amongst magnify glass and ancient parchment. "Egypt, Ireland, Indonesia, South Africa…" Her eyes bounced around to different objects in the room, recalling their homes. "And the Caribbean; Romania was next, but I found myself needed here, so I stayed behind. I had further educated myself; I experienced new people from vastly different cultures, and I was welcomed. I conversed with Santeras, danced with the old Gaels, and even appreciated the misfortunes told by wanderers." She laughed lightly.

Although he would not admit it, Severus was interested in her work. His commitment to the cause had kept him trapped in the world he sought to leave; perhaps if he had experienced something other than what he knew, he may have been a little better. He thought, for a moment, of all the opportunities wasted on his duty. He wondered if he still had the chance to accomplish great things.

"There's a great deal of magic that is unknown to the world, Miss Granger. We've only tampered with a meagre ounce," he began slowly, fixating on her. She nodded knowingly. "I do not need to be responsible for another life loss, therefore I shall decide in time whether you require more training."

"I understand, Professor."

"I am not a Professor, any more."

Snape had found himself slipping into slumber when voices echoed up from the foyer. Over the following few weeks after his tiff with the girl, Severus often found himself seeking relief in the marvelous library he was thankful to have access to. Hermione offered him use of it and practically every other room except the chambers that were just cross from her room on the second floor, opposite the library. He was surprised, at first, about the size and antiquity of her personal library, but internally scoffed when he remembered just who owned the estate. Of course, she had a library. Magical historians of every name and era graced the shelves alongside theory and studies of the world; writings that spoke of fantastic beasts and thickly bound textbooks with sketches of mammoth sized man-eating plants; to his appreciation, the girl even had collections of potion making, which he was sure she had read already.

He flipped starch paper of a potions piece he hadn't read in ages. There were markings in the book, hand written notes in dainty cursive that he assumed Hermione filled in, along with red rings of either Firewhiskey or wine staining the print. He tsk'ed disapprovingly, skipping the stained pages but not without noticing the notes were corrections and customizations to the already existing directions. It was terribly annoying how thorough Hermione was most of the time, far more neurotic than it was impressive. He hovered over her notes longer than intended, mid turn, when something large and heavy and burnt orange invaded his lap.

"What the gods—"

 _Meow._

Snub-nosed, ugly and fat, Crookshanks meowed demandingly in Snape's face, orb-like eyes slightly slouched. He kneaded deep into Severus' thigh, shedding on his black clothes. Severus was mortified and pulled the textbook out from under the rather plump feline without ease, dusting fluffs of fur off its pages. He didn't particularly dislike animals, but he definitely did not enjoy them. He shoved Crookshanks off his lap and heard the cat land with a thud on the floor, causing more vocal demands and pathetic mewls.

"Be gone, beast," said Snape, swatting the cat. He suddenly heard the voices engage argumentatively from down the way, but he chose to ignore it the best he could. Unfortunately, between the unyielding meows from Crookshanks and the noise downstairs, he failed; snapping the book closed and stowing it away, he grumpily went to investigate the commotion.

Crookshanks weaved between Snape's legs, stealing a full body rub whenever Snape stopped to not crush the creature. The man scoffed and pushed the cat away with his foot before leaving the library and locking Crookshanks in it. The voices grew more fervent with each step he took; when he reached the staircase, Severus paused to listen. He could hear Potter's voice.

"The Ministry wants to shut down Hogwarts; if people aren't safe at Hogwarts, Hermione, we are definitely not safe here. We _both_ live in Godric's Hallow. We are sitting ducks!"

Hermione scoffed. Snape could just imagine her cross-armed and stern. "This is my home. I have fought very hard to be where I am in my life right now; I'm not uprooting myself. I'm not running away." There was a pause. "You have a family now, Harry, a family with a wife and child. _You_ can't stay here."

"Look, we can all go together. Me, you, Ginny, James… and even that old git upstairs," Harry sighed. He softened. "I understand what this house means to you, 'Mione. But it's not worth dying over. Ron wouldn't want that for you."

"Harry…" Her tone was warning. She was on edge, and with reason it seemed. "Ron is dead. He's not ever coming back. But I do not have a death wish, if that is what you are thinking. I swore to protect Snape, even when my judgment thought better of it, and I did it for you. Do you honestly think the man would agree to live under the same roof with _all_ of us?"

 _I would rather be cursed_ , thought Severus in dry amusement that such a thought would ever cross the boy's mind. He realized her words only moments after, that the Weasley boy and Hermione's lover is dead, which was news to Snape. He felt an annoying bubble of guilt boil in his gut, but he snuffed it out almost instantly. _Perhaps that's why the girl is in shambles,_ he mused. Snape glided down the stairs and caught Harry's eye in the parlor. They held each other's gaze for a moment and Harry offered an apologetic smile, which Snape, of course, did not return.

"Mister Potter," acknowledged Snape, unenthused. "Pray tell, what exactly is so dangerous about Godric's Hollow?"

Harry pulled an issue of _Daily Prophet_ from his coat and hesitantly handed it over.

 **RIOTS AT AZKABAN**

 **227 INMATES, 39 HIGH SECURITY LEAD REBELLION; 1 ESCAPEE**

Moving pictures of chaos took up most of the front page, beams of magic sparking against the alcoves of the fortress like lightning. Dementors were being ran off by Patronuses as they grew closer to Azkaban walls and then the image looped. Severus read the side column quickly, then threw the paper back at Harry.

"And?" he drawled in a bored voice. Hermione snatched the paper and shook it at him.

"Aurors' after action report to the Ministrystated that the prisoners had _wands!_ " snapped the girl, who flung her hands in frustration. "Wands!"

Snape turned to Harry, who seemed lost in thought. He realized in that moment that Harry, too, aged tremendously since their last encounter years past. He was clean and well put together, no doubt with the help of a woman's touch, but stubble grazed his face and his eyes were tired. War had done a number on them all, it had seemed, and there was clearly no letup of stress and disorder.

Harry sighed. "We know they are capable of wandless magic, but Dawlish and Yew both confirmed and collected several wands from disarmed prisoners. Luckily, we lost no men but the recuperation from the Dementors was terrible, from what I heard."

Severus had heard through the vine that Harry Potter was now assistant head of the Auror Department, and no doubt leading the Order, too. He had saw an old copy of the _Prophet_ laying in the kitchen that had the boy speaking at a podium before an audience of Aurors, reporters, and essential Ministry members, post-battle. His lip curled involuntarily, knowing that if he would have been his potion's master all seven years, Potter would have never passed his N.E.W.T's to be the Auror he is today.

" _We_ put more than half of those dark witches and wizards in there since the Battle," said Harry. He took more wood and threw it in the fireplace and watched as It was devoured by the flames. "And now a few members of the Order have heard wind of targeted locations for attack. Hogwarts and Godric's Hollow are two of them, that's why Kingsley is suggesting locking down the school. Send the students back home, if the parents don't pull them out first."

"It's dangerous wherever we go," said Hermione. She screwed her face up in thought. "But it is peculiar that the moment Snape comes here, we are suddenly in peril."

"Followers of the dark cause have ways of intercepting information, as we well know," replied Snape. Harry nodded, remembering too well of his ambushed escape from Privet Drive that that priced at Alastor Moody's life. "I would hope you are keeping appropriate company, Potter."

"Of course." Harry glanced at Hermione who was still scanning the paper. "But I still think it's better for all of us to leave."

"No," spoke both Snape and Hermione, and it was obvious that Harry was not going to win this one.

"We are staying," confirmed Hermione, throwing the newspaper onto the coffee table atop her other readings. Snape nodded in agreement, silent in thought as he absently rubbed his Dark Mark. "Do we know who the escapee is?"

"The department is tracking some low-level criminal," shrugged Harry. "Bad though, of course. Since only one escaped and the Ministry seems to be terrified, it's pretty clear there is some sort of prison crime organization occurring in Azkaban, with connection to the outside world. That one person is all they need."

Snape hated to agree with Potter, but he was right. All it takes is one person to take down an entire progression of society.

Hermione was quiet and did not move, her eyes closed in deep thought.

"I still won't leave here, Harry."

"Great," the boy sighed, clearly defeated. He stared at Snape as if asking for help though was met by a daring glare. He gathered his things to brave the harsh winter outside the comfort of the warm estate. He gave Hermione a quick hug, one that she did not return but rather caused her to tense like someone touching her with dirty hands. Half way out the parlor, Harry suddenly turned heel and stood before Severus, mouth agape, unsure. "I'm not sure if you care, but I thought you should know that Lucius Malfoy is getting the Dementor's kiss in years' time. It's not official yet but… it seems it will be."


	5. Dark Secrets

**Chapter 5**

Severus found himself sleepless that night as he sat in the armchair by the windows of his room. His fingers rested against his lips, absently rubbing against them, and he stared out at the glow of snow. Small hoof prints pressed in the snow just outside the back gate where the half dead garden grew through its bars of steel, and the trot rounded back into the dense woods that rest behind the estate. He had not thought of the Malfoys in some time and he fought the annoying guilt that brewed in him when he mused. Although his and Lucius' last years together were strained he was still once a friend, however unfortunate and dark the circumstances; even more so, Snape's involvement with Draco proved to stir a stronger rapport than the Potions Master had expected.

The news of Lucius Malfoy's inevitable future with the Dementor's Kiss dwelled on the man's mind heavily, far more than he would have liked. It made him wonder if he was softening in his age, which aggravated him even more. Snape understood that Lucius Malfoy was no better and no worse a man than he himself was; he understood that the life Malfoy led for his wife and son was not very different than Snape's motives all these years. They were survivors. They adjusted, they thrived when things got too hot, just like the reptiles they are. Their enigma is constantly changing, constantly adapting, and constantly questionable.

Snape sighed in exasperation and stood, pacing his around quarters with arms crossed and furrowed brow.

"A drink, perhaps, to quell your mind," came a wrinkled voice from beside the book case. Severus tensed and slowly walked to what was once an empty portrait he didn't care to notice before. There stood Albus Dumbledore, the way he was remembered, donning a fatherly smile with his hands linked behind him.

"Albus," breathed Severus and that twisting and turning returned to his pit.

Dumbledore offered half a shrug. "More, or less." His eyes twinkled in that familiar way. "You look like you have seen better days, Severus."

"There are rarely ever 'better days', Albus," replied the snarky man. He paused. "Lucius Malfoy is to die by the end of the year." He had not mean to blurt something so impulsively, but when it came to his old Headmaster—one he so regrettably killed—seldom is there anything of secrecy. Dumbledore nodded knowingly.

"Sadly, he is. Draco is not taking it well, I am afraid to say, although the boy and Lucius have been estranged these past years," said the portrait with a slow decline of his mouth. "Perhaps, he would appreciate words of reassurance from his favorite Head of House."

Snape snorted. "I doubt that very much," he said dryly. "Regrettably, I am stuck here, as I'm sure you know. Leaving the estate is a means to death, although these…circumstances leave much to be desired."

"Miss Granger is quite capable and may manage something for you, if you ask nicely," suggested Dumbledore, popping licorice into his mouth. Snape raised a brow and the old man chuckled. "They are all acquaintances now, from what I hear from the other chattering portraits at Grimmauld Place."

"Grimmauld Place?"

"The Order", said Dumbledore simply. "It is still their location of choice. I drift between here and there, and when I have reached exhaustion I retire at Hogwarts." He gave an inaudible yawn. "It seems about that time now. Send Miss Granger my regards." Dumbledore made to exit the frame, only to peep his head out. "Severus, a drink really does help the night come—but only one, of course."

And he was gone.

It was surreal to the former Head of Slytherin to be face to face with a dead man he had worked so closely with for decades. Apologies and regret stung Snape's tongue but he decided that it was a discussion for a much later time (or, possibly, not at all). He nodded at the portrait, who dipped past the frame and left it empty. _Perhaps the old dog was right,_ thought Severus with a sigh and he turned heel to leave the room. The corridor was dark for a moment until a few lamps lit as he began his path.

"Peculiar," he muttered to himself. The house was unusual, with equally unusual and empathetic tendencies and charms. It reminded him of Hogwarts, once again.

Snape approached the stairs and almost tripped over an orange ball of fur that rested at the top step. A flat face meowed up at him in aggravation, stretching out of its slumber. Crookshanks began rubbing against his leg until the voice of his mistress stopped him mid enjoyment, his ears perking. The beast shot down the opposite hallway, no lamps flickering to life.

"Miss Granger?" Snape called out to the darkness. She did not respond, and he realized her voice was muffled behind a door at the end of the corridor. He could hear the cat's unyielding cries and scratches against the door. Without realizing, his feet brought him closer to Hermione's quarters where her familiar yowled; Snape's eyes adjusted to the blackness of the hall and he could barely make out the silhouette of the off-limits room opposite the library. He tensed. He could still hear Hermione's incoherent mumble and a bit of laughter. Frowning in disgust, he figured she had inappropriate company and retreated to the kitchen.

To his great pleasure, he discovered a plethora of alcohol stashed below the kitchen island. Pouring himself a glass of the strongest thing he could find, he found himself in the parlor before the ever-burning fireplace. The house was so still he could still hear Hermione's movement and Crookshanks' complaints from above. With a grumble, he settled in an arm chair and rested his face on the knuckles on one hand, drinking with the other. Not long after, the night did, indeed, finally come.

Snape woke with a start the next morning with the weight and invasive whiskers of the orange beast in his face. Upon opening his eyes, he was disappointed to see the Gryffindor also staring at him curiously, arms crossed.

"They say masters and familiars begin looking alike after time," grumbled the man, straightening himself. "Seems like they did not lie."

Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped aside to reveal the bottle of gin and his glass from his insomniac night. "If you're going to drink, at least use a coaster."

"How domesticated of you," drawled Snape. As he stood the cat tumbled to the floor. He and the girl locked eyes for a moment, and she smirked. She began walking away, a hand hanging to guide Crookshanks along.

"Are you sober enough?" she called behind her. "We've been summoned by the Order."

"Fantastic," sighed the man. Looking down he saw orange hair sticking out of his robes and glared at Crookshanks, who was unfazed entirely.

Within moments Hermione returned with a striped jumper layered over her. Severus examined her closely, noting the heavy bags that pulled under her eyes and dull skin. He assumed she got no sleep from the night prior, with entertaining whatever man she had in her room. He felt his scowl deepen at the thought of his ex-student committing adulterous acts under the same roof that housed him and thought perhaps he should cast a silencing charm over his quarters to prevent any future disturbances. That, and the damn cat.

"What's wrong with your face?" asked Hermione with a raised brow. Snape cut her a filthy look.

"Perhaps you should be more considerate of your guests before you decide to become a harlot at nightfall, Miss Granger," sneered the man. Hermione stiffened at his words, her eyes narrow and daggers clearly threatening her tongue. He was sure she was going to shout at him but was surprised at her turn of heel to grab a handful of floo powder. Aggressively, she pulled him by the arm towards the flames.

"Grimmauld Place!"

Hermione and Snape barely had a moment to stabilize after the floo network travel before hands pushed them against the cold wall of Grimmauld Place. Wands threatened their noses and the stern faces of Weasley's glared at the travelers.

"What is the meani—" began Severus, only to be cut off by the remaining Weasley twin.

"During my rebellion at Hogwarts, what did I shove Graham Montague into when he tried to take away house points?!"

Snape's stomach balled into a pit. There must have been an infiltration.

"A Vanishing Cabinet," he snapped, throwing George's hands off him. He lowered his wand, eying Snape in curiosity and almost disbelief.

"What was the stone of the engagement ring Ron Weasley proposed to you with?" asked a worn-down Molly Weasley. Her hair was more grey than red now, a little thinner and course, wrinkles webbed from her frown line and neck with matching spent hands that shook slightly when grasping her wand.

Hermione's eyes cast to the side, and for the briefest of moments Snape thought he saw a smile play at her face before it fell into its usual unreadable expression.

"There was no stone," said the girl in a dull voice. The older woman's brow quirked, and she bobbed her head for Hermione to continue. She sighed. "It had fallen out only two hours prior to his…proposal."

That seemed to placate the Weasley mother and, ultimately, the room, where familiar faces appeared to greet them. Snape could see Harry and the rest of the Weasley clan in the next room, huddled around a table he knew all too well. He recognized, to his entire dismay, Neville Longbottom above the rest: equally lanky and awkward as he had been, his teeth never quite straight. He seemed to be entertaining yet another disappointment, a blond with ridiculous radish earrings Snape knew to be Luna Lovegood; he had remembered he heard they did not wed, which he thought was a good part on the cosmos to not allow two inept individuals to breed. Quick hello's were exchanged before members of the Order of the Phoenix resumed whatever intel and plans they were brewing, papers splayed across coffee tables and maps being held to candle light. There was a quiet buzz amongst them, and Snape could feel their piercing eyes boring into him, however busy they may have seemed. He gritted his teeth as he shot dark looks at those who he felt stared and murmured too long, no doubt a reminiscent of school year days.

Hermione led the way, not pausing to chat with Neville as he spoke, and left him with a frown. Snape saw the Lovegood girl pat a comforting hand on Neville's arm, and the two followed behind them. Before entering the meeting area, Severus paused for a moment at a collage of Order members, and he could clearly see the youngest Weasley son beaming behind a healthier looking Hermione. Her mouth stretched with a smile that squinted her eyes, as if she just finished laughing. Snape's eyes fell on the boy's hand whose fingers wove over his lover's small ones, resting on a swollen belly.


	6. The New Order

With great difficulty, Snape tore his eyes from the photograph and entered the meeting room, the risk of nausea and bile burning his throat. He watched Hermione take her place beside Potter; she was stiff and on the edge of her chair, but her eyes held a readiness he could recognize. Her hand never wavered from her wand. Their gaze met for a moment and he snapped away, analyzing the few others in the room. _She was pregnant,_ he thought incredulously _, but where is her child?_ He pondered about the distraught girl: no doubt, her drastic change in character could be justifiable… the war, loss of her lover, and whatever mystery is behind her child. For a dispassionate moment, Severus mentally chastised the girl. Everyone has story, undeniably, filled with loss and pain and unimaginable events; he was no stranger to darkness, so he thought the girl pitiful to fall so deep. At least he was a miserable man from the beginning.

The remaining Weasley family and their spouses sat adjacent to Potter, who clearly led the way; concern etched across all their faces. Snape's eyes rounded the table where Minerva McGonagall and Horace Slughorn were engaged in quiet whisper, glancing at him only briefly, and continued to a few other former students of his who so foolishly joined the blasted Order.

Snape's gaze came full circle until he reached an unfamiliar face of a young man who stood little ways from the leaders. He was tall and formidable in stature with black, curled hair styled neatly away from hazel eyes; the man was sharply dressed in black suede jacket and gloved hands that held paperwork. Severus studied him for a minute, relaying memories of people he has met to try and piece together what family the mysterious man could have hailed from, to no avail. He was a stranger. As if knowing, the stranger glanced at Snape and a smirk tainted his chiseled face quickly before resigning his attention to Harry.

"There was an attack at St. Mungo's just a little while before we called you all," spoke Harry. He linked his hands so tightly that veins protruded, angered by the occurrence. The essential members muttered to each other before falling silent again. "Several orderlies were killed and three were kidnapped—" He tapped his wand on the table and the images of two men and a woman triangulated, rotating for everyone to see. "Michael Durmstop, Richard Merriweather, and Evangeline Esther."

Mutters ensued again, and nervous looks were exchanged. Hermione turned to Harry and spoke inaudibly, not realizing most eyes were on her. Snape's brows knitted together and the gears in his mind began turning. _Evangeline Esther,_ he thought, not particularly recalling the name other than the estate. The more he thought of it, the more he figured she did look a bit related to the massive portrait that hung in the grand foyer. But why the coincidence?

"As such," came an American voice, interrupting Severus' thoughts. It was the stranger. He stepped forth and Snape could see a Ministry badge pinned on his lapel. "We can see how detrimental this occurrence is. St Mungo's is now without three department heads."

"What of the patients?" asked Hermione, twisting back to look at the man. She frowned, looking quickly from Neville to the American. "What about Alice and Frank Longbottom? What about the children?" Her voice was slow and controlled, but her chest rose and fell with anxiety.

The American smiled at her reassuringly and nodded slowly. "It is to my relief to report that no patients were harmed." He cleared his throat, face falling stern. "However, the Ministry had heard wind of this attack nearly a week ago, I regret to say."

Once again, the Order erupted, though this time angrily and loudly. They raised to their feet, pounding fists on the wooden tabletop in protest and stringing curses; an emotional Mrs. Weasley retreated to the kitchen with George closely following to comfort her while Harry began coaxing his colleagues.

"How can we be Aurors for something so corrupt!?"

"But Shacklebolt—"

"It never changes, the damn Ministry will always be damned!"

"All those poor people…"

"Quiet!" commanded Hermione Granger as she stood. The Order snuffed their outrage, staring at her in such frustration Snape was sure they would explode in argument. Instead, they calmed and gave her their undivided attention. Even Harry seemed surprised. "What Benjamin disclosed tonight is _not_ something new. We have seen it since the night of the Tri Wizard Tournament—the Ministry cannot be trusted, even with Kingsley as their Minister. We know he is just the face of a multifaceted political organization."

"We know, Hermione, that's why we are here, that's why we are angry," said Ginny. "You would think things would get better."

"It is foolish to believe that the Ministry will ever become an ally to the public," drawled Severus, averting attention to himself. The man called Benjamin raised a brow, looking at Snape from head to toe with a curled lip. He crossed his arms. "A hundred years from now and the Ministry of Magic will still be as corrupt as it has been. The real question is why you haven't disclosed this information prior, Mister….?"

"Yew. Benjamin Yew," replied Benjamin, dipping his head and not breaking eye contact. Electricity felt like it crackled through the air. "Perhaps I worded myself tactlessly; it simply just came to _my_ knowledge that the Ministry knew prior. I overheard other Aurors at the scene of the crime."

"It's not like he was withholding information, Severus," offered Harry, giving Benjamin Yew an apologetic smile.

"He holds a Ministry badge, Potter," sneered he old Potions Master as he rounded the table and towered over them. There were slight murmurs of agreement from some of the Order members. Snape raised a brow. "He's American; he knows not of the circumstances here, yet you are so trusting. Although he may be a mole for you, he is a liability."

"The same could be said for you," Hermione said coolly, side eying him.

"As the Golden Trio has never failed to remind us all," snapped Snape. She silenced. "If I remember correctly, some may consider me a hero nowadays." He snorted.

The room was quiet, mulling over the words shared; doubt and conspiracy broke shortly after, members debating, and voices raised. Snape was not surprised at the unruliness of the Order when he saw most of them were the naïve students and Gryffindors he once dealt with. How half of these delinquents managed to become Aurors was beyond him, but at least he stirred their minds now to question the Ministry, unlike the First and Second Orders who were so blind to corruption. He watched as Hermione slinked away to a corner with Yew, seemingly having their own hushed dispute. The American's eyes were dark with agitation as Hermione emphasized whatever her argument was with her hands. Almost instantly, Yew's expression softened, and he raised a gloved hand to Hermione's face. She shuttered under his touch but smacked his hand away, turning heel and walking back to the table. Snape supposed _that_ was the reason this outsider was considered.

Smacking her hand atop the hard wood called attention once more. She stood confidently and determined, looking more like the recognizable Gryffindor she once was than she had been in a long time.

"Remember this," began Hermione, looking at her friends and associates one by one. "Remember this demoralizing moment, because that is what tyrants want. Attacking a place like Hogwarts or St Mungo's, where there truly are innocents and unskilled fighters, is a terrorist act to demoralize the resistance. This… this _emotional_ outburst can make us sloppy. It gives room for error."

"How are we not to be upset?" asked Ginny with a frown.

"Remember _this_ ," said Hermione again, stabbing the table with her finger with every word, her voice rising. "Remember this frustration; remember this anger and remember those people who were killed tonight. Gone is the time of fighting on the high road; we will only lose more. It's time to think and act as those _people._ Remember this and be smart about it!"

The Order nodded in affirmation and they immediately broke into planning. It was decided that Yew and Dawlish would remain close to the investigators of the St Mungo's attack in hopes of extracting information; Harry would continue his role as lead recruiter and trainer for the Aurors for, despite his legend, he was still meddling and whatever corruption that was occurring would be hushed once the Boy-Wonder was near. Because of his apprenticeship under Professor Sprout, Neville assured his friends that he would keep a sharp eye on the students at Hogwarts, especially the infamous Slytherins and their boastful nature, for any leads; he also supplied the Order's infirmary quarters with freshly brewed antidotes and useful herbs, having (finally) established a proclivity for potions. The Headmistress and Slughorn supported this notion and mulled over charms and wards to reinstate around Hogwarts borders. There was not much they can do from the walls of the ancient castle without compromising the livelihood of their students' safety.

Once roles and deadlines were assigned, Harry Potter turned to Snape with a nod before addressing his people.

"This is not going to be easy, guys. We are going down a dark path, once again, so I need to make sure that everyone in this room is on the same boat. I need you to remember your oath to the greater good…" Harry paused, nervously looking at the irritable man. "And I just want to take a moment and express to you, Professor Snape, our deepest gratitude for everything you've done for us."

Snape shifted uncomfortably, arms crossed and defiant of the unwelcomed spotlight. Despite his hour-long presence in Grimmauld place, eyes met him as if they just recognized him; some eyes with questions growing big in them and some shameful of their past distrust of him. Harry turned to him and stretched his hand in an offer of peace and apology. He simply stared at the spawn of the woman he loved and man he loathed.

"I did not do what I did for you, rest assured," said Snape, quietly. Harry chuckled and shook his head.

"No, I don't suppose you did," he replied, his hand still out. "Still, we are alive because of you."

"Speaking of alive…" began the Weasley twin before being smacked on the head by both his mother and sister. Light laughter fell over them all, though the same thought weighed on their minds.

With a suffering sigh matched with an equally suffering face, Severus Snape accepted Harry's hand in a tight and rather quick shake then snatched his hand away. He did not miss Hermione's small smirk at the corner of his eye and shot her a disapproving look, which only caused her to grin. The members of the Order of the Phoenix clapped with relief and the gesture seemed to break the invisible wall between them and Snape, causing almost immediate questioning of his survival, all of which he answered in minimalism or not at all.

Laughing, Harry calmed them down to finish his meeting, much to their dismay.

"I know you're excited, but one last thing before I let you all go," said Harry, before becoming serious once more. "The people in this room are the only people who know Professor Snape is in the UK. And I plan to keep it like that. We will not discuss any sensitive information pertaining Snape, as I'm sure he won't reveal any, either." He grinned at his former nemesis. "I doubt you want to be part of this anymore than you were before."

"Obviously not," sneered Snape with the roll of his eyes. "But since you so willingly revealed me to so many people, including a stranger, I am sure I will at square one, again."

Benjamin gave him a nonchalant shrug and sly smile, causing a few girls in the room to swoon and adding to Snape's dislike. The man's arrogance rubbed Severus the wrong way and he made mental note to be wary around him. But he realized that, if his observance of Mister Yew and Hermione Granger was accurate, he would indeed be seeing more of the pompous man than he would appreciate. Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose with an internal sigh, uncertain if his 'temporary' living conditions favored over the dark forests of Bavaria.

 **A/N: Welcome! If you've read this far, I'm hoping you will continue. This fic will be a bit lengthy, I'm hoping at least. It will be a slow build up if you haven't noticed yet. Things will come together, I promise. For those of you asking why Hermione made an unbreakable vow to protect Snape that, too, will be revealed. It may not be as dramatic as one would want. It may just be just good ol' Gryffindor rise to duty, so to speak.** **This story will feature mild OC, but nothing that will take away from the story. Story perspective will alter between Snape and Hermione. This** _ **will**_ **get dark. Thanks for the love and most of all, enjoy!**


	7. Piece by Piece

"Erm, Prof- erm, sir," stammered Harry after finalizing notes with the last of the Order members. Snape sat at the table with Molly and Arthur Weasley and conversed lightly; he spoke of the Fae and Giants that thrived in the German forests that he took refuge in for such a long time, and of the unforgiving winters that he was sure he hallucinated most of his days. He explained his discovery of new and hybrid herbs, not native to this land, and one that fed him for nearly three days by consumption of a single leaf. Snape assured it was the only way he survived.

"Considering the current situation," he said, taking a sip of Meade and not acknowledging the boy. "I believe I much rather be in those woods again."

The husband and wife chuckled, knowing all too well that Snape was entirely serious. Harry sat down, looking between the adults.

"Where has Ginny gone?" asked Mr Weasley.

"Back to the Hollow. James' babysitter said he was running a bit of a fever," answered Harry, trying not to acknowledge Snape's obvious scowl. He turned to the man. "So…how has it been at Hermione's?"

Severus pursed his lips in a thin line. "Manageable, yet undesirable. She is quite disrespectful."

The Weasley's exchanged silent looks and Harry ran a nervous hand over his glasses. Something snapped in Snape that released his restraints; he cursed under his breath in irritation and pushed himself violently away from the table with a wood on wood scratch. He was tired of the subliminal, tongue-in-cheek histrionic air that cast every time someone spoke of the wretched girl.

"That girl is not the only one who has been dealt a nefarious hand because of Voldemort, and she needs to realize that. You coddle her," snapped Snape, shooting accusing glares at the three. Molly looked sad and she cleared her throat, offering him a small smile that annoyingly pulled at his guilt.

"Severus, I understand we uprooted you from the comfort of your reclusive lifestyle, but you cannot be too hard on Hermione," said the Weasley matron. She placed a gentle hand on his and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. "We have all lost a lot…"

"My condolences on the loss of your sons, Molly, Arthur," said Snape, pulling his hand out from under her wrinkled one. He was very aware the eldest twin was collateral loss of the war, as were so many, but he did not know the mysterious circumstances under which Ron lost his life.

"Thank you, Severus," she replied. She sat back in her chair, looking at him in deep thought and turmoil, sighing. "I would hope you would be more understanding of her predicament. After all, you know loss of love, too, my dear."

Snape took a sharp breath and Harry shifted uncomfortably under the dark gaze that the man cast over him. He had no doubt that people would soon know his story, every personal and sensitive detail of it, but he was not quite ready to delve into that part of his life again. He appreciated life, but since the Battle of Hogwarts, Snape had welcomed death; he welcomed Lily and wherever she may be, is where he felt he belonged. But it was snatched away—so, no, he was not engaging in that nostalgic conversation. Ever.

Molly searched his face for any glimmer of feeling, any hint of what he was thinking.

"I would understand if I knew exactly what has happened in my time away," he said slowly with the raise of his brow. The photograph that hung spiked his curiosity, however morbid it may have been. "To understand, rest assured, not to be compassionate to the insufferable girl."

Mrs Weasley began speaking until Harry interrupted her softly. "Molly, you don't have to. Hermione will talk about it when she is ready."

Molly shook her head, eyes glassy once more, and spoke with a trembling lip.

"It's all of our story, dear." She offered another sad smile and looked up at Snape. "Ron became an Auror, like the rest of them, as I'm sure you figured out. We were so proud… and surprised—" Molly chuckled lightly, beaming at her husband "—our Ron. Not the brightest, no doubt, but strong-willed and brave and incredibly passionate. He loved it, but not as much as he loved Hermione… no, not at all."

The old woman broke down in silent sobs and sought her husband's chest. Quiet cries escaped her mouth between interrupting sniffles and incomprehensible words. Arthur released a shuttering sigh and ushered his ailing wife from the table towards the entry door, mouthed an 'I'm sorry', and disappeared from the premises. Severus stood to his feet and turned away from Harry.

"We do not need to talk about it, Potter," he said quietly as he made way for an exit. Harry's voice brought him to a halt.

"She saved you."

Snape held his breath and felt as though his spirit jumped within his flesh and earth tied vessel, like electricity vibrating through his bones and sticking him in place. Slowly, he turned around, his brows knitted and mouth slightly agape.

"The girl—"

" _Hermione_ saved you, sir," corrected Harry.

Severus paused. "And exactly how did she manage that?"

"When we found you at the Shrieking Shack, I thought there was nothing we could do to save you. I took your tears; you stopped breathing, your body relaxed—it was like you fell asleep. We…we left you there, and Hermione dragged behind a bit. Ron and I just thought she was emotional. She felt guilty leaving you behind."

He paused, and neither one of them spoke. Severus' chest rose and fell, hanging on to every word. It had been years that he has waited to hear of his miraculous recovery; it had been years contemplating and imagining the ethereal entity that rose him from death.

"After Ron…died, I helped Hermione arrange her home several times. She had these bouts of depression and compulsions, and she cleaned and reorganized hundreds of times to cope. On the fourth or fifth time, we went through her attic at the estate and I found the bag she used with the Undetectable Extension Charm almost wearing off. I spilled it over, and vials and books fell out. I didn't want her to be angry with me, so I pushed it all back in, but not without finding this."

Harry slid a small, misshaped vial across the table. Gingerly, Snape picked it up and examined the label on the delicate glass. He nearly dropped it when his eyes registered the neat script sprawled across it.

 _Phoenix Tears._

Snape did not speak, he did not move, and Harry was sure he was not breathing, either. He watched his former enemy's vacant expression, but he knew there were gears turning and working overtime in that ingenious mind of his. Snape gently rolled the vial back and forth, lips silently repeating the words.

"It's empty," said Harry.

"It's empty," repeated Severus. "She could have used this at any time. Surely, she would not have saved me knowing the horrible things I have done, prior to the knowledge you discovered in the Pensive."

"I thought the same thing, believe me, sir. But when Ron died—when he was _dying_ —I watched her turn that bag inside out. I didn't understand, and I tried to calm her. She wouldn't listen, though, but she stopped when she found a vial— _this_ vial. She stopped crying, she stopped panicking… she stopped trying to save Ron.

It all made sense after that. After Voldemort was defeated, I returned to retrieve your body with Arthur and Kingsley. You were gone. Hermione didn't seem concerned." Harry stopped for a moment, looking at Snape for any signs of life. He simply stared at the boy as he ran thoughtful fingers across his lips. "During school, Hermione was the only voice of reason whenever Ron and I distrusted you. She must have still felt that way, that night at the Shrieking Shack. And when she held Ron…when he was dying… I think she remembered she used those tears on you, sir."

The air was so thick in the room it felt almost suffocating, pressing down on them like bricks. Snape replayed that night over in his head, trying to summon any more memory of the event but with no success; he did not remember seeing the girl, he did not remember the break between death and waking up in pain as he stared at the molded ceiling of the Shrieking Shack. He could recall the damp heat of his own blood seeping through his robes and the dryness in his mouth that almost made him vomit; he rose from his grave, stumbled through the storage of the old shack, and apparated with the last bit of energy he could muster. Anywhere.

"I won't tell you about Ron," said Harry, rising to his feet and gathering his things. "But I thought you _should_ know that Hermione Granger is the reason you survived that night. I don't expect you to feel bad for her, but I hope you could be a little easier on her." He sighed. "She's not the same: she's difficult and a little unpredictable, but she tries."

Severus nodded knowingly, torn between impassivity and mild guilt. _What a tortured man I've become,_ he thought, fighting the feuding feelings. Although he would never admit it, part of him did feel a twinge of compassion for the Gryffindor know-it-all; Snape knew that this was just the beginning, and she has the potential to become just as despondent and wretched as he is. He did not wish to know the girl, however; he realized he stretched himself far too thin in the past to support others before himself. Right now, it was impertinent that Severus Snape cared for Severus Snape.

 _But,_ he thought in defeat, _I suppose I could be more tolerant of the unruly girl._

"Who is Benjamin Yew?" he asked Potter, the thought interrupting his guilt momentarily. Harry fiddled with papers on the table as his eyes danced over to the American.

"He is a transfer from MACUSA, with great recommendations and an even more amazing success record. He is a trained Auror and has been for ten years or so, before taking a knee and helping more of their admin side. It's what he does here, too, closely with Dawlish and Kingsley, himself."

"A reputable resume does not mean trustworthy, Potter," sneered Snape, watching Harry's face for any doubt. He saw none, and the boy shrugged.

"It doesn't. But… I think he fancies Hermione. I think it'd be good for her. He's kind of arrogant, though," said Harry, frowning. "But he's been helpful for the last few years, especially after Ron died. Ron didn't like him."

"I see," said Snape, watching as Benjamin came up to Hermione again, apologizing for whatever he did that aggravated her, and whispering something in her ear, causing a small smile to play at her lips.

Snape arrived back at Esther Estate after Harry assured him only he and Hermione could use the Floo between Grimmauld and the old manor. He appreciated her exception to her charms; he was not sure if he could manage a hike to Godric's Hollow, otherwise. He made his way back to his room, dodging Crookshanks until he heard a crash from the kitchen below. The cat ran through his legs, nearly tripping him, but Snape followed suit, rushing to the ruckus. _She is drunk, no doubt…_ He slid the hidden door to the dining room roughly that it banged against its frame, seeing a crazed Hermione and cool Yew. Hermione's hands were bloodied, grasping her wand and threatening an unfazed Benjamin, as a crystal decanter lay shattered at her feet. Her frame shook violently, and unshed tears threatened her large eyes. Benjamin glanced back at Snape with his hands up in defeat, backing away slowly.

"I was simply trying to help you, Hermione," said Benjamin in a soft voice. "I am sorry if I startled you. But you were bleeding—you still are." He paid no mind to Severus.

She didn't speak but she looked between both men, eyes searching Severus as if for an answer. The potioneer held his wand under his robes.

"Miss Granger?" asked Snape in an even voice. Her eyes snapped back to Benjamin Yew and she swallowed hard, nodding and wand slowly lowering. "Perhaps you should leave, Mister Yew."

"I can help her."

"Obviously…" intercepted Snape, closing in and looking down at the man. "You cannot. Leave, now."

Benjamin sighed, looking at Hermione with empathetic eyes, defeated. "Please, reconsider my offer, Hermione." He turned heel without another look and Snape could hear the harsh wind bellow in through the entrance of the estate before the last creak of the door left them in silence once again.

Hermione silently resumed her task of picking up the crystal shards of the decanter with her bare hands, gingerly this time to avoid injury. Frustrated, Snape knelt beside her and whipped his wand to levitate the pieces. The shards shook for a moment to rise when she interrupted him in a brash tone.

"No! I can do it. Please leave me."

Severus raised a brow at her, scowled and backed away. He began to exit the room when that annoying sense of guilt and humanity buzzed in his ears. With an inward groan, he back tracked and raised his wand again. "Miss Granger, may I touch you?"

Her head spun and her brows knitted in confusion, picking up the last large shard of glass. Her eyes fell on her burning hands and blood that dripped on the hard wood floors, and she slowly nodded. She rested the glass atop a towel that she set on the table then turned to offer her hands to Snape. Hermione could feel rough callouses graze her skin when Snape turned her hands over and watched as his eyes narrowed in concentration. He chanted quietly to himself as he lightly ran the tip of his wand over her cuts, causing her to wince slightly; to her surprise, the blood that trickled swam upward over her fingers, returning to the gashes before healing completely. She offered him a small smile in thanks and absently shifted through the glass.

"If you continue to do that, I will not heal you again," warned Snape. She stopped instantly.

"Benjamin keeps trying to court me," she explained, holding herself in a protective manner. "He's a nice man, gentle even. But he accidentally dropped the decanter… he tried to help me, console me and I-I just…"

Snape held a hand up to quiet her. He was uncomfortable with her sudden openness. "You do not have to explain, Miss Granger."

"It was Ron's. The decanter." Her voice was flat and without emotion. He didn't say anything. "Ron's dead."

"I know, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked away from him, her face tight and unreadable. Her hands seemed to have a constant quiver even when she crossed them. He wanted to press them to the counter to get her to stop but thought better of it when her gaze fell onto him again, piercing into him as if she saw everything he was made up of. He saw it there, for a moment. Resentment.

He understood why.

"Miss Granger, I—"

"Thank you for healing my hands," she mumbled as she rushed past him and out the room, leaving him to his realization of her contempt for him.

 **A/N: Surprise! I figured I'd post two chapters this week, just because they kind of support one another, and the last chapter didn't give enough. I don't want to make a habit of too many filler chapters. I hope this offers you some insight to why Hermione is the way she is, at least towards Snape. I wanted to create slight parallels that Snape is, loosely, Hermione's "Harry", if you will. (Of course, their situations are different, but the sense of resentment and regret are equally heavy.) Hermione is a survivor, but not without her flaws and overcoming some toxic traits that I hope will improve as I develop her** **Thanks for reading!**


	8. Crossroads

It had been several days since Snape saw her; even her beastly cat was gone from sight. If he did not know better, he would think she abandoned the premises, leaving him to his self-pity and darkness, but every morning and every evening when he sought meals, Snape would find food ready on the stove. He was cautious at first and wafted the fumes of the meals for hint of anything poison. To great relief and equally great surprise, he indulged in the homecooked meals without fatality although he knew, deep down, if Hermione's contempt for him was strong enough, she had the potential to break the Vow if it meant ending him. He appreciated, for the briefest of moments, her Gryffindor ways.

Still, Severus knew the conversation was unavoidable. He understood regret and resentment and, despite not wanting to admit it, he felt mild compassion for Hermione Granger. He would not let it consume him or emotionally drive him, but for both of their sakes, it would not kill him to play nicely. On the fourth day of silence, he decided enough was enough. Snape could smell the warm scent of a roast linger up to his room and despite the hunger pains he felt, he left to the library instead. If she was avoiding him throughout his obvious daily routine, he figured this as the right course. He pushed the door open and instantly he heard the snap of a closed book. He paused for a moment and raised a brow at the girl who was wrapped in blankets, books spread about her among half eaten meals. Even the half-kneazle cocked his head from his slumber to eye the intruder.

Hermione's eyes peered out from layers of quilts and unruly curls.

"Snape," she acknowledged with a small nod.

"Miss Granger," he replied. He stepped further in, despite Crookshanks' unusual hissing in defiance from the arm chair he lay. "I had wondered if I could have your audience tonight."

Hermione wore a mildly shocked expression and looked at her furry familiar as if for confirmation of what she heard. Snape's lips pursed in slight annoyance, instant regret washing over him; she had better make this worth it.

"Er, whatever for, sir?" she replied. Snape could see her face flush, thoughts flashing across her eyes.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose and absently tapping his dark wand against his side. Hermione could sense his aggravation and her body tensed, ready to exit the library, when he drew closer and spoke. "I will assist you with your ambitious need to learn the Arts, Miss Granger. It would be foolish not to, considering the events of recent and knowledge we gained from Potter."

Much to Snape's surprise, the girl's face lit up as if she had just passed a N.E.W.T—she practically beamed. There was some life in her after all, but that annoying guilt soon came to boil within the old potioneer when seeing Hermione's obvious overexcitement. Part of the man knew that this was most likely a path to discord; he knew that he had danced with death on far too many occasions in the past to not meet a sticky end soon. But even if the girl is well-trained, or when his inevitable death strikes him down, Snape knew none of it would satiate Hermione's bitterness and resentment for saving his life.

"Are we starting tonight, then?" asked Hermione, breaking the man from his inner thoughts.

"We are. I suggest you get your fill; it will be a long night, filled with a lot of reading." He paused before turning away, a smirk playing on his face. "Although, that won't be too torturous for you, will it?"

She offered him a rare grin. He was definitely going to regret this.

The great clock chimed seven times as Snape entered the study, not shocked at all when his eyes fell on Hermione and her splayed arrangement of parchment and books. No doubt, she was probably there much earlier than their agreed time. She merely glanced up when he sat down across from her, and she briefly observed how less menacing Severus Snape seemed out of the damp dungeons of Hogwarts. He looked healthier, a bit more meat on him and his hair less greasy and brow less heavy. Even in the low light of the embers, Hermione could count the scars on his face, travelling down over the curve of his chin until her eyes settled on the gruesome—

"Have I suddenly sprout a second head, Miss Granger? Staring is still considered rude in the wizardry world," drawled the man, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts. Looking away and gnawing on her bottom lip absently, Snape could tell she was internally debating. His breath hitched as he knew well enough where her questioning eyes had wandered, and he mentally prepared himself. But alas, how could one prepare for such a conversation? How does a man who has spent his entire life resenting a child for love lost come to terms that he is now just the same? He realized he had no real way of addressing Hermione's inevitable questions and wrath.

"Dark arts…" she began, eyes like saucers and drifting to the grim scars across his jugular. She paused, trying to string the words. "Not all the arts are the same."

Severus relaxed, leaning back and placing his foot atop his grounding knee, pressing his lips to his fingers. He was safe from her interrogations—for now. Instead, he nodded to her in response.

"As I am sure you have learned in your worldly travels, there's many types of magic. Some magic has deadly roots in tradition and, often, religion, where practitioners may dabble for both reward _and_ their deity's pleasure. It is ritualistic and holds deeper, personal meaning to the user and their connection with their Gods."

"Ceremonial magic," said Hermione, nodding.

"Yes. Which can make be particularly dangerous, when one considers the pure dedication a practitioner may hold for their God or Goddess. Some may call it 'black' magic, if used for, arguably, more selfish and sinister reasons. But we know, of course, it is not the magic but the user. Overall, magic is grey; besides unnecessary torture or murder, it is only 'dark' when we begin considering man's judgment. In honesty, our society has labelled what is acceptable and what is not; and what is acceptable here may not be so, elsewhere—and vice versa."

He allowed himself several moments of silence, hoping Hermione would understand the vast complexity of the dark arts and all the possible if's, and's, and but's about it.

"It's in the eye of the beholder," she said finally. She understood.

"Entirely. What you think you are using the arts for, however noble you may think it is, there will always be others who place judgment on your decisions. The neutrality of the dark arts is what attracts men; it is flexible and molds easily to the desires of witches and wizards globally." His gaze cast sideways, deep in thought. He recalled the less than desirable things he did in his life whilst under the Dark Lord, both sincerely and as a mole. None of what he did was noble; he did not send dark curses flying into chests to for great causes, nor did he kill to protect loved ones. He sighed. "It is the folly of man that is responsible for the evil and death that plague this world, Miss Granger. We are not particularly loyal, trustworthy or honest in nature, nor are we without envy. We are the men whom taint the arts."

"And women," added Hermione, in a quiet voice. Involuntarily, she ran a hand over her arm.

"That, too, is true. However," he continued, averting his eyes as she uncomfortably rolled her sleeves lower. He found that she was still hanging on to every word that spilled from his lips and she sat at the edge of her seat. "That is not to say that there are not those with good intentions. Obviously, the public does not protest the extermination of dark witches and wizards who wreak havoc. There are those with the proper strength and mentality who successfully wield the dark arts without being swallowed by temptation. As such…which one are you?"

Hermione was blind-sided by his question, but her gaze never wavered from his black-as-coal eyes. She searched them for an answer as they pierced through what she felt was her soul; they were curious and questioning but Hermione could also feel the caution that hid behind them. He did not move, waiting for her reply. She closed the book she was reading and held it on her lap, her hands linked and back straight. Severus cocked a brow.

"I am both, without question," said Hermione, her voice firm before falling into a sigh. Her thoughts came a bit jumbled. "I cannot, in honest nature, say that I am righteous and good and stable all of the time. I have seen too much…been through too much…it is impossible for bad things to _never_ cloud you at some point. But… I cannot let it happen again. I cannot be unprepared like I was last time because there will _always_ be evil people."

Severus nodded knowingly. It was foolish for one to ever assume they are right for the arts: nonchalance and overconfidence is a recipe for disaster. It seemed Hermione Granger knew that she was now made up of entirely grey matter, sometimes unstable and riddled with self-doubt. But she was honest to herself—and to _him_ —that she is not a perfect witch. Severus was now assured that he could help her become what she wanted to be.

"It may make you drunk with power and knowledge," warned Severus.

"I trust that you discontinue our sessions if you feel it comes to that."

Her easy submission confused him; he would have thought she would be persistent about this new knowledge, pushing every last button he has until he was either forced to run away from Esther Manor or hex her into oblivion. But she was calm. She seemed to have picked up on his apprehensiveness.

"I know that you must be mildly aware by now that things happened in the past few years. I cannot trust myself, sometimes. That's why I am trusting _you_ to cut me off by any means necessary if I become someone dangerous," she said matter-of-factly with a slight shrug. "I'm sure you have a checklist of warning signs or something. And I could never say I didn't at least try."

Snape took her in for a moment, her words echoing in his mind.

Over the course of several weeks, they met at the same time every night, and they talked. Or, rather, he lectured, and she listened, which was familiar for both former professor and student, except she wasn't waving her hand incessantly to be called on, much to Snape's relief. She would bring a book over every few minutes during her reading, asking him for elaborations and questioning everything she could. Although he still found her insufferable, the stimulating conversation brought Snape a much-missed sense of belonging, however brief. He had spent the best of eight years conversing very little with anyone in Germany other than a few towns people that worked at local farms or fishermen requesting permission to fish off the lake his small cabin resided on, to which he almost always agreed in exchange for four of their catch.

The events at Grimmauld Place still irked Snape whenever he allowed himself complacency. He lowered a book he found only mildly interesting and looked over at the girl who was currently examining a bewitched stone she received on one of her trips that supposedly had the soul of an ancient entity within it. Snape had snorted at that, shaking his head, before breaking the silence.

"One of the kidnapped employees of St. Mungo's was a woman named Evangeline Esther, a name I have never heard of until I came to reside here…at Esther manor." He watched her for a moment as she did not move but only continued to examine the stone, although Snape knew she was thinking of a lie to spin him.

"We bought this home from her. She is a much older woman, probably one of the oldest healers in St. Mungo's, and the portrait hanging in the foyer is her very-great grandmother, who she is named after," she explained nonchalantly.

"I see. And you are not curious as to why she was kidnapped?"

"People do awful things," she retorted, and Snape could hear a snap of defensiveness in her voice. He closed the book on his lap and gave her a withering look.

"I may not know everything that has happened in my time away, Miss Granger, but I do know that things are not just coincidental. And I would hope you would think the same, given your intellect," he drawled. He did not give her a beat. "You are a hero living in a time and place where there are less of you and more of the villains, growing each day. Someone of very little importance to the public is kidnapped, and the only connection they have…is to you. Hmm, that is not peculiar at all?"

She looked miserable and Snape could not have been more pleased. He wanted answers; he knew things did not make sense and the event at St Mungos was too particular to ignore.

"She was my midwife," said Hermione, her eyes boring into Snape so vacantly it almost made him uneasy. "And I do not know why she would have been targeted. She was my midwife, and she sold me this home. That is all."

 **A/N:** I hope my speed isn't killing you guys yet, haha. I do enjoy a good slow burn and build up. The next few chapters are going to be A LOT. You will begin to get more answers. Thanks for the positive feedback (:


	9. Misty Water-Coloured Memories

**Misty Water-Coloured Memories**

 **Warning: Abuse, assault and references to rape**

They sat in silence for a moment, and Severus felt that annoying twinge of guilt eat at his conscience, though he would not admit it to her. He watched as her face softened and her fingers played with the frayed corners of a book's binding, her wrist peaking out enough that he could see alarming pale scars etched around it; he wondered what they were from for they were not prominent enough to have been by a blade, but maybe… rope? Metal? He found he could not tear his eyes from the disturbing marks, until Hermione's voice broke the unsettling silence.

"I think someone is after me," she said in a small whisper and her fidgeting stopped. Her words pulled Snape out of his thoughts.

"Perhaps. The recent events could be a warning." He thought for a moment. It made sense, although it could be a stretch. "But who would know about your connection other than your closest friends? It's not like health records are public information, although, obviously, there can be breaches."

She snorted. "Everyone would know. It… _everything…_ was in the Prophet."

He waited for her to continue, the situation becoming more and more curious with every small reveal she gave. Sighing, she collected her thoughts and checked her emotions into their small compartments she created for them, berating and soothing them to calmness.

"Three years ago, Ronald and Harry were on a case that was very obscure and secretive. The department gave them miniscule details to go on, causing them to run in circles for almost six months. All they knew was that muggle-borns were being kidnapped, disappearing for weeks, never to return. If they did return, they were found in their towns burned at a stake.

It was very dramatic, theatrical even, but still incredibly haunting. At the time, I was nearly through my second trimester when I was abducted from a muggle market." She stood, busying her hands across items on a nearby desk, and Snape felt her become distant again, lost in her memories of what he expected to have been a time of pure chaos and confusion. He watched her warily as a soft smile graced her face. "I was supposed to find out the sex just a few days later, but instead I spent eleven days in captivity."

Hermione did not continue but from where he sat, Snape could see unshed tears threaten her eyes, her brows knitted, and jaw clenched. He almost regretted inquiring the details of her story, and guilt trickled in again. He imagined what it would be like if someone began asking him about Lily Potter, someone he hated, someone he would think does not deserve to know him or her so intimately. He knew he would be angry. He knew, in this moment, he did not deserve the answers he sought from Hermione Granger.

"You do not have to tell me, Granger." His voice was so quiet Hermione almost didn't hear him, but his omission of the usual honorific almost eased her, strangely enough. As if they were equals, right now. _Perhaps we are,_ she thought, _he knows lost just as I do._

"I haven't talked about it in years, and maybe you deserve to know from me, instead of Harry," she said, a slight quip to her voice. He almost smirked. Hermione straightened her back and cleared her throat before nodding her head behind her. "Come with me."

"Miss Granger—"

"It's hard for me to talk about it. But I can show you."

She turned and walked to the far corner of the Acquired Room – as she called it, and Snape knew 'acquire' was loosely synonymous with 'stolen'—and she pulled a large trunk a few inches from the wall. Severus followed her and could not help to be intrigued; his mouth slightly gaped as she twisted a key into the trunk and it sprung to life, layered trays canting outward like small staircases, lined with small vials that were neatly labelled. There had to have been hundreds of them. A soft glow emitted from the belly of the trunk as a hollow basin floated before them, not losing any of its liquid.

"A Pensieve," he said, taking a closer look. " _Dumbledore's_ Pensieve?"

She nodded as her fingers danced over the corks of her memories until she found what she needed. It contained no label and Snape was aghast to find its contents were nearly black—in fact, most of the memories in the trays were discolored; urine like liquid danced in most, grey and muddy brown in others. He looked at her, and she shrugged.

"They are not good memories. Tainted."

He never saw anything like it and, admittedly, was almost nervous to take the vial she offered. But her face was determined, her lips pursed in a thin line as she forcefully pushed it into Snape's palm and closed his fingers around it. She held his hand for a moment, dipping her head to catch his downcast gaze, and stared up at him through thick lashes. Snape could almost count the scattered freckles across her face but was distracted by her sad eyes that nearly gutted him.

"Please, Severus."

He pulled his hand out of hers, completely unnerved and reluctantly cast her memories into the basin, instantaneously being sucked into past of Hermione Granger.

When the image cleared before him, Snape could tell it was Christmas time and he was at a busy market where vendors sold holiday foods and crafts. The snow was accumulating, and he caught sight of Hermione's unruly curls covered in flurries as she slowly walked past him. He found himself following her like a beacon, like the bloody ghost of Christmas past, as she went through the crowds. Severus caught a look at her face and he was surprised to see her so happy and healthy in comparison to the girl he has dealt with recently. Her cheeks were rosy and round, and she emitted a certain glow he knew women were said to be graced with during their pregnancies.

"Why is Ron so difficult to shop for…" she puffed, trying to squeeze herself between a snogging couple to a woodcrafts vendor. "Get a room!" The couple jumped at her snapping tone as she barreled through and Snape could see the rounding of her stomach as she unzipped her heavy parka. She huffed and groaned. "Bloody hot flashes."

Severus almost laughed. Although she glowed, she definitely was not graced. He watched as she ran her fingers over small wooden figurines, moving down the vendors until she was met with a beautiful basinet with burned floral designs swirled along the edges. Hermione's face lit up and she jumped in surprise before laughing and rubbing her belly. Her expression was so warm that Snape couldn't look away and her smile broadened.

"You like it too, little one?" She laughed again, and he figured she felt more flutters from her unborn child. She pulled out money and passed it to the vendor, giving him a small smile before placing her prior purchases into the basinet and cast a silent feather-weight spell to carry it. The vendor looked at her peculiarly as she walked away.

Snape already felt the prickling of impending peril as the girl turned down an alley. She looked around quickly before pointing her wand at the basinet to shrink it, but even in her memory Severus could hear the quick clicks of boots on cobblestone approach her. He wanted to yell at her, but it was too late. Hermione's scream was cut short, and then there was darkness.

The nothingness lasted a few seconds before her memory resumed, and Severus found himself before three, wild haired girls in a cellar, one being Hermione. He did not recognize the other girls but it they had an uncanny resemblance to his former student, though they seemed younger. A sinking feeling overcame him, slow realization developing, when Hermione stirred, and her shackles dragged across the damp stone. He knelt before her as she groaned and vomited through him and Snape noticed dry blood in her hair, deducting that a blunt attack to her head was the cause of her unconsciousness. Hermione then looked through him at the other girls who were far worse for wear than she was.

"What is this place? Who are you girls?" she croaked.

"Casey Jenkins."

"Rhonda Villalobos."

They were monotonous; when they looked up at her, their faces were sunken and gaunt with a mixture of blood and grime caked on their skin, vacant of any will to live. Hermione studied them for a moment before a gasp escaped her.

"You're the two girls who have been missing for weeks!" she exclaimed as she tried to stand. Her knees buckled, and Snape impulsively tried to catch her before she fell through his hands and landed with a frustrated cry. "How long—"

"You've been out for two days," answered Rhonda as she played with a tray of leftovers beside her on the floor. Hermione grimaced at the sight and rubbed her swollen belly. She froze for a moment, and Snape knew realization dawned on her. "I-I need to get out of here. I'm hurt—where's my wand? I can't be here—" she pulled on her shackles, twisting her wrist to pull it through "—I can't… damnit! I'm pregnant, my baby…"

The two girls watched her, the one named Casey crying as Hermione frantically tried to free herself, until the cellar door slammed open and the stairs squeaked with each descending step and they jumped in fear. Even Severus wielded his wand though it was a fleeting moment, and he was almost embarrassed; he never experienced memories as vivid and collective as hers.

Two heavily cloaked men, giant in stature, stood before them. They were nearly identical, with beards and thick brows, but not familiar to neither Hermione or Snape. The young girls quivered together in a corner, but Hermione stood again, her chin out and glaring. _Bloody Gryffindor courage,_ thought Snape, _it gets them killed._ One man grinned at Hermione in a sick way Snape was familiar with amongst the Death Eaters of his time, and he immediately wanted to pull out of the Pensieve. He refused to watch a memory so repulsive and so depraved as rape. The man came closer to Hermione and grabbed her by her chin, tilting her head up and examining her face; Hermione spat in his face, causing him to growl and he yanked her head further back by her hair and held a small dagger to her carotid. She whimpered slightly but didn't tear her eyes from his.

"Time to get rid of the others," he said. The girls cried out as the other man unshackled them and magically bound them before making his ascent.

"No! Let them go! Let them stay!" yelled Hermione as she fought against her restraints. She must have pulled too hard before Snape saw her wince and roll her shoulder. The first man pushed her back hard against the wine racks that it rattled, and he laughed.

Darkness crept in again. Snape assumed she was once again unconscious. It lasted longer than last time and when the memory materialized once more he was still in the cellar, this time alone with Hermione, other than two basins left by her that he assumed were for her release. She still lay shackled though she was disturbingly disheveled and obviously roughed up, telling by her bruises arms, busted lip and deep gash alongside her cheek. He heard the door slam open again, the creak of footfall echoing, and the two men from the previous scene were there again, though this time with a tray of sloppy food. They slid it to her. She did not stir.

"Been here for six days. Boss needs to figure out what he wants to do 'cause if I have to come down here one more time and can't ram my cock down her throat, I might kill her," complained one man.

"Dirty blood," was all the other said. He knelt before her and pushed aside her hair. "You're dirty. You smell. Take this off." He pulled at the jacket she still wore from the night she was abducted, and she grumbled as she hugged herself tightly, very aware of their intentions. The man's nose flared as she fought against him which earned her a hard slap across the cheek. He hooked his dagger at the neck of her jacket and plunged it downward so fast Snape thought he initially filleted her; he paused and placed a giant hand across her abdomen and his dark laugh echoed as he pulled her shirt up, revealing the evident swell of life growing inside her. "This changes everything."

Hermione whimpered as he raised his foot, kicking her in the face, and blackness descended the memory once again.

 **A/N:** Sorry for the delayed chapter! I've been swamped with work and so tired. I work at a recreation facility for military members overseas and I just got done with a huge Street Fighter V Tournament through Twitch and Esports, and things have finally calmed down! Here we have some memories of Hermione's; the next few chapters will dive into them, too. I really liked writing about the Pensieve; I liked creating a realistic experience because if one could _actually_ dive into memories, there would totally be black outs and a limited environment since you are seeing what another person actually saw. The next few chapters may be a bit disturbing. I will have warnings at the beginning for triggers since I want my readers to be prepared or to stop reading if it's too much. Thanks for your love! -Jay


	10. Mudblood

**Mudblood**

Hermione yanked Severus out of the Pensieve abruptly and forced another vial into his hand as she nervously bounced from one foot to the other. He raised a brow at her, nodded, and turned back to the basin where he could still see fragments of the previous collection floating through. Gingerly, he poured its contents and was sucked into her memory once more.

He was caught off guard when his ears were overcome with screaming— _Hermione_ screaming—and with sobs and frantic begging that echoed through the cellar. When Severus turned to her, he froze as he saw blood cascading down her thighs and legs. She fell to her knees and doubled over in pain and her sobbing grew louder and more difficult to listen to. Snape did not move, he could not move. He was frozen in place as he watched the horrifying memory unfold before him and he thought he would vomit right there. Very few things unnerved him, but this nearly broke his heart. His guilt poked at him from the abyss and he suddenly felt very self-conscious, like he was a fly invading her deepest, darkest secrets.

He wanted to pull out again, to curse her and to leave the estate, but he just wouldn't move. He could hear music coming from the floor above, something eastern European and folk.

"Please, help! My baby! My baby…" Severus thought her pleads fell on deaf ears until a figure crept out from the darkness of the other side of the cellar with a bottle of wine in his hands. It was one of the men from before though Snape noticed he had scratches all over his face, clearly from Hermione, and he leaned lazily against a foundation pillar, popping open the bottle and taking a swig. Hermione's hateful glare bore into him even though she writhed in pain and was deathly pale. She was weak.

"Are you hungry? Starvation and torture can really work up an appetite," he said. He tilted his head at her and gave her a mocking frown. Snape felt his own rage boiling as he watched the exchange between guard and prisoner. The man came closer and crouched beside her, not at all phased by her tears, and pushed her hair back. Snape could now better see the condition in which Hermione was left in; he was sure her nose was broken, and her eye was almost swollen shut. When she spoke, he could see blood rimming her teeth.

"I'll do anything."

The man grinned.

"Anything? Well, despite how tempting that is, there is use for you, though what use, I don't know. And I can't touch you…just…yet," he said, running a rough hand slowly over her bottom lip, his eyes almost lost in whatever sick fantasy he was spinning. She then bit down on his finger hard, drawing an agonizing yell from the man. His bottle of wine shattered on the ground and with a growl he descended on Hermione and pinned her to the ground, his blade at her throat. "Stupid cunt!"

It all happened in slow motion as he brought his blade below her and jammed it into her lower side, causing Hermione to release a blood curdling cry that whimpered out; her mouth was still agape, and Snape could see life slowly leaving her eyes as wine and blood mixed and pooled around her.

There was a sudden explosion from above that shook the house, causing dust to fall on them, and battle cries could be heard. The man swore under his breath and without looking at Hermione again, ran upstairs.

Severus watched her closely as his fingers absently rubbed over his chin. He could tell she was dying; she was faced his way as she faded in and out of consciousness, her arms splayed out. He watched her eyes dance over the cursed words on her forearm: Mudblood. By the scarring, Severus knew she did not fall victim to it in her eleven days in captivity here. He was pulled from his own thoughts when she released an exasperated huff of air as she struggled to reach something close to his feet. Looking down, he saw an all too familiar blade, and his heart nearly jumped out his throat.

Bellatrix's dagger.

"Fucking...D-Death Eaters," she cried as her fingers barely skimmed the handle of the dagger.

The door to the cellar burst open once more and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Snape felt anxiety build up in his chest and then felt awkward relief as Potter and the Weasley boy shuffled down the stairs with two other Aurors flanking them. He watched as Ron's face fell and contorted through so many emotions as he vanished her shackles and scooped Hermione's weakened form in his arms. She must have been fading, because Severus could not clearly make out what Potter and Weasley were saying, but it was heated. Harry shouted at Ron as he carried Hermione up the stairs and Severus' conscience followed along as audience. The house was never one he had ever been in, from what he saw; Snape could not see much more down the hallway for the memory cut them off into a shroud of darkness, except the corridor Ron slowly made his way down, a little revealing with every step.

Hermione was coming forth, and Snape could now hear his surrounding, and he could hear Ron muttering confirmations and support to his pregnant lover. He was in tears, but Snape could tell by his demeanor that the boy was in full rage, possibly only reined as to not scare the damaged woman in his arms. Snape knew that feeling.

She stirred then groaned.

"R-Ron… the baby—"

"Shh, it'll be okay, Hermione. I've got you."

"My wand, the crib…"

"Hermio—"

"Ron, please let me down," she said as she shifted in his arms. She was far more alert than expected, and Snape figured it would have been her final surge. Ron grunted and lead them into a small room with peeling wall paper, and Snape could see a collection of random belongings there: school robes, wands—some broken—bags and money. Ron laid Hermione on a nearby chair and she slumped into it with a small cry. He took his flannel off and pressed it against her abdomen, causing her to yelp. Gently, he held her face, rubbing softly across her bruised cheek, and she began crying once more, inconsolably so. The red head kissed Hermione's forward affectionately, and Snape once again felt the pang of invasion.

There was a creak from behind where Snape was observing. When he spun around he was met with the end of a wand and one of the cellar guardsmen glaring through him. Before he could even blink, the man shot a silent spell that pierced through Snape and hit Ron Weasley square in the back. His shirt was charred and ripped open as deep, blistering holes burrowed the entirety of his back. Snape heard Hermione yell as Ron slumped over on her, convulsing. The man grew closer, not speaking, and raised his wand again but the blinding green light of the Killing Curse lit up behind him, and the guardsman fell to the floor, dead.

Hermione slid off the chair and frantically pushed dead peoples' belongings off the tables, and Snape heard the irritating voice of the American shouting behind him.

"Harry! In here!" He tried to gather Hermione, but she slapped him away before reaching for her beaded bag she saw sticking out from under a robe. She fell beside Ron's shaking body and shoved her arm elbow deep into the bag. Snape could hear the light jingle of glass and thuds of books and he was mildly impressed by the Undetectable Extension Charm. He didn't notice Potter enter the room until he walked right through him like a ghost and staggered.

"Bloody—Yew! We need a healer here right now!"

The American left, and Harry began talking to Ron in attempts to keep him conscious. Ron began choking on his own blood and Harry tried to help with the little healing spells he did know.

"Where is it, where is it?" Hermione cried. She was desperate. She sniffled in frustration at every passing moment, and she then snatched Harry's wand and flourished it into the bag. " _Accio!"_

Hermione caught the vial, her arm still submerged in the bag, and stared down into it. Her shoulders slumped, and she threw the bag across the room; she held Ron to her chest as his final breath was drawn, and he stilled, eternally. She was staring straight at Severus' form, and he felt a chill down his spine when he saw the vacant, catatonic defeat in her eyes.

Severus was ejected from the Pensieve as the memory finished, his breathing uneven and heavy, and turned to Hermione. She was looking at him like she just saw him for the first time, reading his face, and her lips parted in wonder. Severus was bothered—anyone would be—and he figured she was surprised to see anything resembling sympathy on his face.

"Miss Granger—"

"Hermione," she interrupted in a soft voice. "I think by now, you can call me Hermione."

He paused, composing himself.

"They found a dead body on the grounds of where I was held. It was a Muggle man—the face of the two cellar guards you saw. Apparently, everyone in that house was taking Polyjuice, so when the Aurors came through, they were fighting copycats. Everyone got away that night, except the guardsman Benjamin killed. When the potion wore off I knew who it was right away."

"Rodolphus Lestrange," said Snape. "I recognized his wand when he…attacked Mr. Weasley."

Hermione recoiled. Snape studied her for a moment, replaying the horrid memory she offered him. Although she was close to thirty, she was still young—too young to have experienced what she did, to have experienced everything since her school years. She was unpredictable now, and a little mad, if he were to admit, but he knew, deep down, her psychological reaction to it all was expected. He reflected on how he has carried himself through life, just as deflected and detached as she, from his own hardships. Severus Snape knew very well his ways were unhealthy; he knew he did all he's ever done to preserve himself and his pride, but mostly to protect his heart. How could he possibly berate this girl for doing the same?

"The girls in the cellar," he began slowly. "They had an uncanny resemblance to you. Did the other captured women look the same?"

Hermione offered him a cruel smile, shaking her head in disbelief at the thought. "Yes, they did. They stopped taking Muggleborns after me—after they killed the two who were in the cellar with me. The Auror Department deemed it as some twisted revenge plot, nothing too elaborate. They figured there were newer underlings who were not familiar with me, snatching up Muggleborns who had any kind of resemblance." She paused for a moment. "For a long time, I felt like I got all those girls killed. A dozen of them, just for being who I am."

"I know guilt all too well, Miss Granger, but there is no rationalization when it comes to vengeful sociopaths," he said rather firmly. "Although I will deny saying this if you ever bring it up…no matter how insufferable and incorrigible the three of you have _always_ been, you saved many lives. That does not come without sacrifice and there are always casualties in war."

"I know," she said, her voice cracking. Severus hoped she wouldn't begin crying. He was not sure if he could take it. His comfort can only go so far.

He sighed. "Come. I believe there is some liquor still left in your cabinets. This has been a trying night, and no doubt, we both need to take the edge off. "


	11. Eye to Eye

**Eye to Eye**

Snape and Hermione shared a decanter of something strong as they sat in the entertainment room before the fire. She had turned off the Floo for the night, adamant about her privacy, which Snape could appreciate. What he thought would have been a mistake was, surprisingly, pleasant and comfortable. They spoke very little at first, but as the alcohol loosened their tongues, banter and quips came easily to them. He even allowed Crookshanks to lay on his lap and offered the feline his goblet of booze.

"Here, beast."

"Snape, no!" Hermione warned but Crookshanks dipped his fat head into the goblet and scooped a small amount of liquor before shaking his head and committing violent kneads into Snape's thigh before zooming off into the corridor with his hair on end. The potioneer swore and Hermione laughed so hard she was wiping tears from her eyes. "You definitely deserved that."

"Perhaps," he scowled, aggressively freeing his pants from orange fur. Hermione was still laughing, a fit of uncontrollable giggles jumping in her chest. He watched her over his glass. _No wonder she drinks so heavily_ , he thought, _this is the first time she has laughed so hard._ He mentally berated himself and curled his lip. _Who fucking cares?_

When her giggles subsided, she drew another mouthful of her drink, glancing at him. He looked away.

"You want to know more," she said, tilting her head a bit to catch his eye. "I can see it when you look at me. I mean, I guess I've always seen the questions in your eyes, ever since you came here."

"Do you see it as easily as I see your complete hatred of me?" sneered Snape, swallowing the last bit of his drink before pouring another. He looked over at her and her eyes were cast down, clearly ashamed. "Not that I blame you."

"I don't want to hate you," she said quietly. Snape stopped pouring his drink, nearly dropping the decanter, before glowering at her. She wrung her hands and rolled her head to the side in thought. "Harry told you, then."

"Yes, he did. He told me you used Phoenix tears to heal me that night at the Shrieking Shack. He showed me the empty vial."

"He shouldn't have."

"No, he shouldn't have. He should have let you live with your anger and distaste for me for a bit longer." His voice was cold, cruel even. Hermione straightened her back and frowned at him, but still, no words came from her. "After all, were it not for your _bleeding heart_ and horrible Gryffindor conscience, you would have most likely been able to save your lover."

"Stop it," she snapped, placing her goblet rather hard on the coffee table. He raised a brow at her. "You are being cruel because you feel guilty, deep down."

Severus Snape was a man of very few words, but also a man of many snark remarks and a lashing tongue when he needed to be. But in this very moment, he was speechless. This young, foolish girl had struck a nerve in the old Death Eater: truth. He did not react, he did not even look at her. Snape clenched his jaw and stood to leave.

"I don't want to hate you, Snape," came her voice from behind him as he turned to leave. Her voice was solid, stern, and confident even. He slowly turned back to face her, his eyes narrowed, as if trying to see through a ruse. Instead he was met with honest eyes that were unwavering and locked onto his own. "I have spent a long time being angry at the world. I made a choice that I thought was best at the time; I trusted a gut feeling to save a man who was cruel and bitter and bad, and I don't want to regret that…not when I found out all he did for us. For a greater good."

He snorted at that, but she shook her head.

"Don't laugh at me, Snape," she continued, and he obliged. "I never suspected you were against us until you killed Dumbledore… but that day we returned back to Hogwarts, I saw you when Minerva rebelled. I saw your hesitance, not out of fear but something… else. I saw a torn man that night; a man who didn't send a single hex at his former colleague and, possibly, friend."

Severus felt the gravity of the world pressing against him and he was sure he stopped breathing at some point during Hermione's honest and open conversation about the past. When he regained his composure he sat back down, his elbows hoisted on his knees, hands linked, resting his mouth against them and looking at Hermione in deep thought. Her eyes remained locked on him, studying his twitches and micro mannerisms in a way similar to his own, waiting. The light of fire flared for a few passing moments and Snape could nearly count the scars that shone in its light; jagged marks marred across her brow and socket—he had to look away.

"I have the utmost respect for Minerva McGonagall. She has been both mentor and colleague and, yes, even friend. I simply would not fight her," he muttered quietly.

Hermione nodded, a small smile turning at her lips. She left the chair and sat beside him on the couch and Snape tensed at their closeness. Unexpectedly, she placed a hand atop his and gave it a squeeze. Snape exhaled, all tension he had felt during their conversation dissolved, and he could breathe again. He never knew comfort, at least not very well; Lily was comforting but that was so long now that he found himself having to think a little harder to recall it. But in this moment, he felt…okay, and okay was better than what he lived with for so long.

"I don't have a reason to hate you, Snape," said Hermione, breaking the silence and withdrawing her hand. Snape found himself missing the touch. "It's not your fault…just like those girls being killed wasn't mine. I suppose what I'm saying is: I'm sorry that I have been so difficult the past few weeks."

Snape straightened again and cleared his throat, glancing down at the woman before him from the corner of his eye.

"You have been quite insufferable," he drawled, causing her to laugh lightly.

"I suppose, for once, I have been," she replied, sipping down the remainder of her drink before pouring another. When she turned back to him, Hermione's eyes were searching his, and he could tell she was looking for words to say. He tried not to shift under her omnipotent gaze but caught sight of a frown playing at her full lips. "I also hope you don't feel that guilt anymore. I mean… I know I didn't make it easy b-but…" Her voice faltered slightly until she gathered herself. "But I _am_ trying not to redirect my…trauma at you."

When he didn't reply, Hermione rose to her feet with her arms protectively crossed over her body, like a shield between the two; he could see and feel her demeanor switch once more. It gave him whiplash. Moments like these made him feel like he was dealing with two very different people. She turned to him slightly as she still hugged herself, but her face was smooth and almost detached.

"If I had to do it all over—knowing what would happen—I would still save you, Snape," said Hermione, her voice quiet yet firm.

Snape's eyes widened slightly at her unwarranted admission and he soon found himself on his feet as well, though involuntarily so. She tensed slightly, defensively, but did not retreat. He drew closer to her out of pure instinct and reaction, raising his hand touch her, to feel s _omething—anything! —_ but was prematurely ripped out of his emotion when he felt the overwhelming vibration of her power resonating off her like a giant tuning fork seeded in electricity and fire. His hand fell short as his impulsion dissipated and he composed himself once more.

"I—"

"Goodnight, Severus."

As she turned to leave, Hermione laid a gentle hand on his bicep for a moment, then quickly exited, leaving an emotionally distraught poitioneer to the silence of the night.

He sighed, long and shuttering.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger."


	12. Death Becomes

**Death Becomes**

Weeks quickly became months as the old Potions Master taught Hermione all his knowledge and power. She was a quick study, naturally, and he was pleased (or more so, relieved) that she showed no drastic warning signs as she delved deeper, darker. He was not surprised when she asked about the text book Harry had in their sixth year but thankfully, she was more curious about his discoveries than she was teasing of the moniker of a sixteen-year-old boy. Oh, but she still teased.

"We honestly thought it was some arrogant student who looked at himself as royalty," she explained, a small grin playing at her lips as she practiced wand movements for _Sectumsempra._ He eyed her warily as he tried to stay focus on her lesson than her nostalgia. With a quick whip of her wand and a crack of magic, Hermione sliced the training dummy across the chamber into three pieces. Her brows raised high in surprise for a moment and a small swell of pride warmed her chest. She looked back at him with a smirk. His lips curled. "Well, I suppose part of our theory was right."

She was teasing him, though he could not tell if it was malicious or if it was how she mulled things over with someone. Perhaps she was trying to soften things after her recent outburst nearly made a copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ a permanent part of his anatomy. That's how his time in Esther Estate as treated him thus far, full of unpredictability and neurotic outbursts he refused to understand, which only made him more exasperated and eager to leave this place. It was a vicious cycle because, although there was something clearly unhinged about Hermione Granger, he was not sympathetic all the time but often met her head on in her crazed moments, almost escalating to full blown duels in the kitchen or library. The atmosphere was, often than not, heavy with electricity and warring magic, and then it would suddenly fizzle out, like turmoil never existed, and they would be fine. It was exhausting.

He said nothing as he glided across the training chamber that dwelled in the belly of the mansion and moved the now separated parts of the dummy with his shoe. The cuts were clean and were met with little resistance, it seemed, far deadlier than he ever managed. In the moment he could not find himself annoyed at an example that advanced his, but he did simmer with concern at the display and reality of the situation. _She_ is _powerful…_

"Ten points to Gryffindor," he drawled, and Hermione actually smiled, hearing the satisfaction in his voice.

She rarely smiled or offered any sign of what she was feeling on her face, Snape had noticed throughout the months. Her micro-expressions were hard for even him to decipher half the time, but he could tell the gears in her intellectual brain were never at a still. It was not surprising to him that the know-it-all would still be overly pleased with herself at any academic accomplishment.

"And ten points from Gryffindor, for your earlier cheek." Her face fell for a moment and he was almost sure she was going to shoot a hex his way, so when he heard light laughter instead, Severus was surprised. She shook her head in mock disbelief, gathering her items as the last bit of sand fell to the bottom of the hourglass they had used for training.

"You're still so surly."

He grumbled grumpily but that didn't phase her. He barely phased her any more, which left Snape feeling torn: he once thrived in the powerful presence he carried all his life, but he could appreciate the girl's growing acceptance of him and all his sour glory. Snape would never admit that he rather enjoyed training her and divulging years of his knowledge to such a gifted woman; her thirst for answers and knowledge transcended even his when he was young, and her capabilities to adapt and advance his already existing spell work was inspiring, to say the least. He could not help the brief moments of pride he felt when she very well exceeded his expectations.

"I'm hungry. Would you like a sandwich? I picked up some of the lunch meat you like from the muggle market," she said, smiling.

He nodded and followed her up the spiral stairs. When she first brought him to this chamber, he was surprised to find its entrance was a hidden wall within her oddity room. She had explained there were rumors that Godric Gryffindor once had a lover who was part of the Esther family, and gifted her this home, imbued with magic that helped create Hogwarts castle; even through remodels and annexation, the magic still hummed within its walls. He scoffed at the lore, knowing it was some story the family weaved from straight vanity.

As they exited the chamber Severus realized the wall closer over behind him, infallible as ever. Curiously, he touched his hand to it. Nothing happened.

"It's sentient," said Hermione, grinning at him rather stupidly. Her eyes gazed over the high ceilings of her home, smiling as if to a beloved pet. "The entire estate acts like the Room of Requirement sometimes."

Snape rose a brow at her.

"The come-and-go room?" she offered, her brows furrowed. He did not speak which only caused Hermione to burst out in laughter. "You don't know! That is perfect. Something the great Severus Snape has no knowledge of. This is one for the books, I'd think."

"You sound insane, woman, what are you talking about?" he asked. Despite her teasing, he was genuinely curious.

"I'm not going to tell you. Who knows if you'll return to teach at Hogwarts one day, and there may be some Gryffindors who will need to use it to escape the bat of the dungeons."

Snape scowled at her as he entered the kitchen without a word and collected the items to make a sandwich. Hermione quickly realized he gathered enough just to make food for _himself_ and she broke into a fit of uncontrollable laughter at his surly antics. When she turned to get more, still giggling, Snape allowed himself a private smile—however small—as he stared at the back of her curly head, ignoring the strange feeling that the house, too, laughed with her.

As early Spring began announcing itself, Hermione gifted Snape with access to the worn-down Greenhouse that extended from the manor just below his window. She had minimum supplies but had offered to pick up any ingredients he may want on her weekly trip to Diagon Alley which, he figured, was kind of her _;_ so, every Sunday he would leave a small piece of parchment by her muggle coffee contraption with particular and, in Hermione's opinion, rather anal instructions on each ingredient. _Did it really matter if dried nettles had a bit of yellow on them?_ Hermione would think but never bothered asking. She knew if she did he could reply with an unrevealing 'yes' and absolutely no explanation. She figured she would save herself the annoyance.

Still, Hermione bought what he asked and refused payment in galleons that, naturally, was awkward for Snape. Everyone wanted something, right? Eventually, to stop the bizarre encounters and quarrels over exchange Hermione settled for a monthly brew of Dreamless Draught and Draught of Peace which he would leave by her bedroom door in jars along with small scraps of dinner for Crookshanks. Despite inconsistency of quality of life, Snape had to admit that when it was peaceful, it was _very_ peaceful at Esther Estate—mostly because they had very little communication other than training in the lower chambers and shared silence in the library, and sometimes even at dinner in the evenings.

 _When did we begin sharing meals?,_ thought Snape with a frown as he turned his potion counter clockwise thrice. The cauldron exhaled hot steam as if from a dragon's belly and the beaded sweat on his brow rolled down his face in tiny streams. He was comfortable the past few weeks brewing, something normal and familiar for the man who thrived with routine, although Potter enlisted his help to brew potions and dittanies for the Order's infirmary closet, for an admirable fortune. Snape felt best when busy even if it did require him to socialize with the Boy Wonder more often than he would have liked.

Snape spent most of the day in the green house, attending to herbs and his few too many cauldrons that sputtered; the sun was falling now and cast a cloak of purple and pink across the sky, a few stars beginning to twinkle through. Although he was a night owl, Severus could feel the exhaustion of the day clouding his eyes and mind as he ungracefully slid into an old wicker chair Hermione found for him from a Muggle flea market. His eyes finally scanned over a few parcels of mail Schubert, the estate delivery owl, had brought several hours ago.

He stretched for it, then froze when he read the headline.

 **AZKABAN ARISEN – THIRTEEN DEAD**

 _Lucius._ His eyes scanned the article quickly and turned to the last page where he found the victims' names and pictures and his stomach sank as he saw his former friend's sallow mugshot boring holes back at him from the stark paper. _Lucius Malfoy is dead…_ He sighed with exasperation, pondering if perhaps Lucius was leading this chaos in Azkaban prison and curious as to why it is falling out of the control the way it is. The Ministry had always kept a tight and short leash on its problem child, the dark prison, and Severus could not recall any other time besides Voldemort's reign that there were so many uprisings within its impenetrable walls.

 **A/N: This is a bit of a short chapter. Sorry for the tease! This is probably the shortest of them all, so bear with me. On a positive note, I just booked tickets to visit the Making of HP in London. It'll probably be our last trip before we move stateside again. I'm so excited!**


	13. Malfoy Manor

**Malfoy Manor**

Hermione and Severus brewed together in comfortable silence; even Crookshanks laid on the wicker chair and out of the way, much unlike him, and soft snores escaped his raspy chest. As she crushed Valerian with a worn mortar and pestle, Hermione hummed a soft tune that the Potion's Master had grown accustomed to and, admittedly, found calming. He had meant to ask her what it was.

"Not too much, you want a bit of the petals in the mix," corrected  
Severus. He placed a rough hand over hers on the pestle, firmly pressed it in and twisted outward. "Find your rhythm this way. It's also easier on the wrists."  
She looked at him and nodded, mimicking his method effortlessly. They continued in silence, Snape falling so deep into his own thoughts he did not realize the low thuds of her crushing had ceased and she had cleared her throat. He raised a brow at her.  
"I was wondering if you would like to see Draco," she asked. He  
stopped stirring and gazed at his reflection in the purple liquid before  
him.

Since he heard of Lucius' passing, Snape felt internally torn  
between his feelings. As a Death Eater, one knew that fatal ends were bound to be met, regardless of how arrogant one carried themselves. Severus had always thought, deep down, that he would not make it out of the war alive—it was a fate he accepted from the beginning. So, to be here, living, breathing, and brewing, while the posh and primped Lucius Malfoy is very well six-feet-under, it stirred a spiral of existential crisis he was not quite prepared to feel.  
That was without taking Draco into consideration.  
Although the circumstances were not promising, Severus had to admit to himself that Draco had, at some time, felt like family. Or something resembling that. He was a complete brat and obnoxious in his youth, but he had developed a fatherly care for the boy and, when he fled to refuge, he had felt regret leaving him to the aftermath of the battle. Snape had securely tucked away those feelings of remorse and self-disappointment for all these years. How fair would it be to pop into his life nearly a decade later, seeking friendship once more, when Draco had gone without for so long?

"I am not sure if he would appreciate that," answered Snape,  
resuming his potion work.

"I think he would. He mentioned you."

Snape paused and laid the ladle on the table, casting a Tempus to  
time the simmer. He turned to the girl with arms crossed and knitted brows.

"I saw him after I read the _Daily Prophet_. I stopped by the manor  
after my errands. He's…distraught, to say the least. They didn't have the  
best of a relationship, but he was still his father," said Hermione. She  
searched his face for a moment. "It would be good, I think…for both of you."

Snape released a long sigh and nodded in agreement, much to  
Hermione's surprise. She was sure he would fight her on this and was  
delightfully pleased he agreed so easily.

"We could go there today if you like. I've been working on a  
glamour charm for you—it'll only last an hour or so, enough to get to the  
manor. Draco, like myself, has a lot of spell work on the perimeter of his  
home, so we will have to walk some of it. I can apparate us close."  
"A charm? For me? I am not sure if I should be flattered or  
terrified, Miss Granger," drawled Snape, earning himself a feather-light  
laugh, and found himself almost grinning.  
"Both, honestly. You may permanently have a beard if this goes  
awry."  
 _Shit._

Several hours later, after the brewing was done and the languid lard of a cat was well-fed, Severus found himself regretting this idea-entirely. He stood alongside Hermione on a muddy path under an umbrella as mother nature drowned the earth, fingers coiling into a thick and itchy beard and the other rubbing the slight hump on his back all while cursing the speckles of rain that smacked against his thick-rimmed glasses. He grumbled in annoyance at the all too humored look on Hermione's face, secretly damning her.  
"You are a wicked woman," said Snape. She swatted his hand away from his beard and he raised a brow at her accost.  
"You'll be fine. It's only so no one recognizes you in the very  
brief walk we have to Draco's." She swatted his hand again and laughed.  
"Stop!"  
"This is ridiculous."  
"You're _being_ ridiculous. Stop it, before you stay that way."  
He ceased but swore under his breath. He began trudging forward up the path, leaving Hermione umbrella-less and victim to the harsh rain. She caught up with him as quick as her legs could get her and scowled at him as she huddled under the umbrella. Snape was pleased to see her tamed curls becoming unruly and frizzy instantly, and he did allow himself that laugh out loud.

When they came to the manor gates, Severus and Hermione both inhaled sharply, casting each other wary glances. Undoubtedly, both had strenuous and dark encounters within its walls, and it was almost unfathomable that the family still lived there. It must have been that pure-blood pride.

Snape turned to the young woman beside him who stood more like a statue than himself, her eyes casting up the length of the tall, foreboding gates.

"We should go in, Miss Granger. My glamour may dissipate at any moment," he offered quietly. She nearly jumped when he spoke but nodded in agreement; placing her hand on the gate, it hummed with magic for a moment, then slowly opened without a sound. He raised his brow at her.

"Draco charmed it to recognize some people," she said simply, leading the way.

"Are you and Draco close?" asked Severus, submitting to his curiosity. _I suppose he could see it,_ he thought, _Two equally haunted young survivors of a devastating war, bonding over their losses._ Hermione turned to him with a knowing grin and shrugged.

"We are _friends_. He and Astoria are _happily_ married and have a son."

Severus' eyes widened, and he stopped walking, sputtering over his words until a loud shriek echoed from the front door of the manor. His hand was on his wand immediately as a small blur of blond came rushing down the stairs and tackled Hermione into the neatly kept lawn.

"'Miney, 'Miney, ' _Miiineyy_ ," yelled an overly exuberant toddler as he opened and closed his grubby palms up at Hermione. Without hesitation, Hermione swept the little boy up and attacked his round, red cheeks with kisses, the exaggerated sounds causing the boy to giggle even more. Snape felt like he was in an alternate dimension as he watched a boy that was the spitting image of Draco Malfoy give sweet and loving affection to a muggle-born witch; it was even stranger to see Hermione's face light up as it did, glowing and full of life, and Severus could almost see the indents of dimples dip into her face. It reminded him of the photo at Grimmauld Place.

Severus was so mesmerized by the scene before him he did not notice the silence that fell upon the young Malfoy as he eyed the man from behind Hermione's curls, muttering something in her ear that caused them both to giggle. She whispered something back to the child and cast Severus a rare smile that made his breath hitch.

"Scorpius, this is a friend of your Daddy and mine," said Hermione softly, inching closer. Snape stared down at the boy with knitted brows that only deepened as he watched the child mimic his own scowl, causing Hermione to laugh lightly. _Definitely a Malfoy._

"Hermione, who…"

Hermione's eyes snapped back up to the doorway of the manor, and as Severus' gaze followed he found himself staring up into the steel eyes of Draco Malfoy. The man could feel the charm fading from his person as Draco's face contorted from confusion to shocking realization of his former professor before him. Draco's knuckles paled with his vice grip hold on the door frame until he slowly descended the stairs; as he grew closer, it was unusual to see the young man so unkempt and tired, with straining, blood shot eyes that rolled over the visitors and beard shadowing his chin.

Draco stood mere feet from Severus, and Hermione whispered something to the small boy in her arms that caused him to jump down and quickly vacate the lawn, but not without casting another skeptical look at the dark man over his shoulder. Hermione stepped closer, causing her friend's icy eyes to snap to her, and Snape could visibly see his face soften, a minute crackle of despair flashing across his features that looked as if he was about to become undone.

"Draco…" she began, finding her voice but doubting whether this was a grand plan, after all. He blinked at her and she offered a small, teasing smile. "He's real, I promise you."

Malfoy scowled and glared at Snape in a very familiar manner, crossing his arms and straightening to full height. "It's taken you this long to come around here, Snape? Typical." He scoffed.

Severus could not help the slight curl of his mouth and offered the grieving man a trademark sneer, shrugging lightly.

"I've been imprisoned by an unruly witch and her wild pig," drawled Snape, eyes cast sideways at Hermione. A soft blush speckled her cheeks and she balled her fists slightly.

"Crookshanks is _not_ a pig!" snapped Hermione as she glared daggers at the surly man, which would have been a little intimidating had it not been for the gradual frizz worsening that caused her to look like a wet lion. Draco chuckled and held a hand out to the older man who stared at him with a slightly raised brow, somewhat caught off guard by the cordial gesture. Draco slumped slightly, losing his debonair guard, when Snape grasped his retreating hand firmly and pulled him closer.

"Draco…" began Snape, eying his former pupil. He could see every capillary in the boy's eyes, surrounded by heavy skin of sleepless nights, and the odor of scotch lingering out of his pores. "I'm sorry about your father."

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his slick hair, turning his heel and making his way back to the manor. The visitors glanced at one another, unsure of what to do, until he waved an exasperated hand at them.

"I'm going to need some more scotch," he called back to them.


	14. Prophetic

**Prophetic**

The interior of Malfoy Manor was just as Snape recalled it all those years ago, though it held more of a woman's warmth; the walls had aesthetically placed enchanted photos of Astoria and Draco at their wedding, vacations, and pregnancy, but most of the photos were of the young master Malfoy from birth to present. A stroll down the corridor caught Snape up rather quickly on the lives of his former students and he was pleased that, despite recent loss, the Malfoy's did better than expected, post-War. Snape was even surprised to see the lack of prejudice the noble house now held as his gaze fell on a photo of Hermione bouncing a baby Scorpius while an aged Narcissa had her hand resting on the muggleborn's shoulder.

He glanced over at Hermione whose face was unreadable as they passed what he knew to be the drawing room, though noticed a chain sealed it shut. Snape was aware of the kind of horrors that occurred in the home—he was present for the worst of it. He knew the Golden Trio were captive here at some point, and he guiltily began imaging the type of torture they most likely fell victim to in captivity.

Draco led them into the familiar sitting room whose roof was replaced with glass paneling, allowing more light into it than Severus remembered, making the manor more of a home than before. The fire crackled before them as they sat, warming the travelers' faces instantly. Hermione offered Snape a small, encouraging smile until her eyes and mouth widened noticeably, and she looked a bit past him. He slowly glanced to his side and jolted his head away from the chocolate covered face of Scorpius Malfoy that was mere inches from him as the boy hung over the back of the sofa to peer nosily at the man.

They stared at each other for a moment, the boy still chewing whatever treat he was indulging.

"You look weird," said the boy, causing Astoria to gasp and reprimand him. "Mummy, he does, though! Look at his neck!"

Severus Snape never thought a five-year-old would get the best of him as he felt mildly insecure in the moment.

"That's because he's a Vampire, jellybean," said Hermione in a rather matter-of-fact tone. Draco, who had been sulking in a leather recliner, smirked at Snape over his glass of scotch, trying to hide his pleased look from his son. Astoria glowered at him and lightly smacked him on the shoulder; his face turned stern until he saw his son's eyes widen and nearly pop out his head, and he found himself snickering once more. Snape scowled at the curly haired witch, and she shrugged.

"A _real_ vampire? Dada, how come you never told me that you're friends with a _vampire?"_ Scorpius whined, flipping himself over the sofa and plopping beside Snape. The boy's eyes never strayed from his scarred neck and his mouth 'o'ed dramatically. "Can you turn into a bat?!"

Astoria cleared her throat and wrestled her son into her arms, much to his displeasure, and cast Draco and Hermione withering looks as their silent laughter became jubilant once she left. Snape still scowled at the two, though he was very off put by how familiar they seemed together. He frowned slightly as he realized how much he truly missed and how much his old world had changed. Perhaps he truly missed out.

"I _thought_ it would scare him away!"

"A bloody bat! Potter will get a laugh out of that one!"

Their laughing soon died out when they realized Snape wasn't scowling or verbally chewing their heads off, and it had to take Hermione clearing her throat to pull Snape from his inner turmoil. His eyes snapped to her as she rose, awkwardly looking between the men.

"I'll leave you two to it, then," she announced, then disappeared from the room before Draco could insist otherwise.

The two men stared at each other for a few moments, the pattering of rain the only sound gently embracing the situation, as Draco poured himself another drink, this time closer to the rim. Snape rose a disapproving brow but said nothing as his former student slumped into the chair and rolled his shoulders.

"Where have you been all this time, Snape?" asked the boy.

"Germany."

Draco nodded and silence, once again, laid heavy, so quiet that they could hear the muffled murmurs of the women in the next room.

"How is fatherhood treating you?"

"Oh..err…" It was evident that Draco did not expect such a personal question from the bat of the dungeons. He straightened up and rubbed the back of his neck with a small grin, almost shy. "Spectacular, really. Scorpius is a great kid—not like me at that age at least—and he's ridiculously smart. I tell Granger he could be the 'Brightest wizard of his age', even! But I couldn't do it without Astoria."

Snape watched as the once slick haired, slick tongued man soften before his eyes, and he felt mildly uncomfortable. He remembered that look; it was a look he once held decades ago when a certain red-haired witch ignited a fire within him.

A look…a _feeling_ that was like a dull wound now, gently squeezing his heart.

 _What do I do now?,_ murmured a voice deep within Snape.

"You okay?" asked Draco, eyeing the man curiously. Snape nodded and snatched up a glass from the trolley, pouring himself a few fingers and frowned to himself. _I haven't had this much to drink in years…_ Draco raised a brow and smirked at him. "Alright, now we can have a good time."

Snape shot him a dark look which only caused the young man to snicker, much to Snape's dismay; oh, how he missed the terror and fear he once invoked in students!

"So, how was Germany? What did you do?" asked Draco.

"Live," drawled Snape, taking a mouthful of whiskey that scorched his throat. Draco's face fell with annoyance and the dark man allowed himself an audible chuckle. "I am most comfortable in solitude—"

"You don't say?" sneered the blond, his mouth curving wickedly. His cheeky remark earned him a trademark glare, and, for a moment, Draco felt the familiarity of nostalgia as he looked at the brooding man. How Snape managed to tower a person while sitting was beyond him.

" _And Germany,_ " continued Severus, ignoring the boy's childish smirk. "Was a hospitable place for a man like myself. It was quiet, and people left me alone. I found remarkable plants and materials there that would be greatly beneficial for potion making if the Ministry of Magic would lift the International Botanical Trade restrictions."

Draco laughed—a deep belly laugh—and almost spilled his drink.

"I ask how you are and you give me academia? Wow, things really haven't changed. You and Granger must get along great! She still babbles about new articles and werewolf equality when you get a few drinks in her," Draco said, snickering. His eyes narrowed but a devilish grin still played at his lips; Severus had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, annoyed that the boy could still be a prat. " _Do_ you get along?"

"If you mean silent potion making and reading, then I suppose," Severus said with a sigh. He hated to admit it, but they did share an awful lot in common. It could have been worse—he could have been shacked up at Potter's house.

Snape gazed over Draco's form with pursed lips, taking in his ragged, less-than-Malfoy image. He knew that the blond was deflecting the inevitable conversation; he knew compartmentalization was a taught trait within the Malfoy line, and that Draco has not allowed himself to properly cope with the situation.

"Draco," began Snape, but the man in question held up a hand, closed his eyes and shook his head.  
"We aren't having this conversation," he said in a low voice. Snape ceased, a brow raised, but nodded in defeat. Draco sighed once more as he put his drink down. "Bugger!"

As quickly as he placed it down, Draco scooped the cup and angrily tossed it against the door, shards and alcohol now mixed on the floor. Draco was visibly shaking as he glowered and balled his fists.

"I don't know why I'm surprised, he was going to die anyway," snapped Draco as he glared at the door. "But I am angry! It was his fault Mother and I were involved with everything from the beginning; it was his fault I took the Mark and that Mother was sick with worry all the time. But damnit! Despite it all…I.."

"He was your father," offered Snape. He banished the mess of glass and booze with a flick of his wand. "Regardless of all he's done, he was your father."

Draco's shoulders slumped.

"You're…understanding this better than I would have thought."

"You're not me," shrugged Snape. "It's not that I understand because I feel that way but because I understand you, and the kind of person you've always been. I suppose I can…imagine what you are feeling because you do feel so much."

Draco blinked at the dark man, his mouth slightly ajar. Shaking his head slightly, the gawk was replaced by immediate defensiveness and a slight tinge of embarrassment on his pale face.

"A-are you calling me…soft?!"

Severus shrugged again, raising his hands, but a smirk played at his face. Malfoy grumbled to himself with tinted cheeks and downed the last bit of his scotch. He placed the glass down and slumped back into the sofa.

"I'm gonna ask Potter to investigate my Father's death," he said quietly, his eyes staring off to a far away place. "I visited him, you know, in Azkaban. Only once though. Potter pulled strings for me. Father said something was being planned—a break out, I'm guessing—and he requested multiple times to stand before the Wizengamot and disclose information, but the Chief Warlock denied him every time."

"You don't think Lucius was part of the rebellion?"

"At first, I did, but now I think he was a loose end that needed to be cut. He still ratted a lot of people out after the war even though he was sentenced to Azkaban." Draco paused for a moment, running idle fingers through his slick hair. "He told me to add more wards to the manor and gave me access to foreign accounts. He said, 'just in case', which is vague as hell, if you ask me."

Snape thought for a moment and couldn't help but to agree with him. He spent more of his time with Lucius than anyone else; he knew his wary friend had plans A through Z to insure his and his family's survival, but he also knew Lucius kept most people in the dark as he worked these things out behind the scenes. If he was warning Draco and entrusting him with their fortune out of country, there was no doubt in his mind that Lucius' words weighed with truth.

"Did you talk to Narcissa about this? Even though your father was locked away, he could still pull strings to protect you. Now that he is gone you are vulnerable," said Snape. He paused for a moment, eyes averting to the door, and quickly cast a silencing charm to the room. Draco raised a brow. "Footsteps."

"Astoria doesn't know," whispered Draco. He sounded almost frightened. "Neither does Mother."

"I trust you've made arrangements to protect your family when they are not with you, then? Anything can happen, anywhere and at any time, Draco."

"I know that!" snapped Draco, glaring at his former professor. "I'm not stupid. I know I have to eventually tell them, but right now they're safe."

Severus released a long and annoyed sigh, rubbing his temples, then shot the boy a withering look.

"You're foolish if you think they're safe. If former Death Eaters are planning vengeance, no one is safe. Least of all the families of deserters or the Order. Surely you've thought of that?" growled Snape. He couldn't believe how arrogant this boy could still be. "Trust me, nothing good comes from keeping people in the dark. They will just be blindsided when they could have been vigilant from the beginning _if_ they had the right knowledge."

Draco shrunk under the man's exasperated gaze and tongue lashing, but Snape could see his eyes were threatened with tears. He withdrew himself and frowned at the emotional display. _I will hex him if one damn tear falls!_

"You're right…"

"Of course, I'm fucking right, Draco! How many people fell under Dumbledore simply because he did not disclose information?" Snape snapped, still glaring at him.

Draco stood and began pacing across the room, muttering to himself and absently playing with the buttons of his shirt. Snape watched him, even more annoyed than before, and tapped his fingers impatiently upon his knee.

"…Fucking Granger…"

"Draco."

"…Saint Potter… Fucking prophetic bullshit—"

"Prophetic bullshit?"

Draco ceased his muttering and froze mid stride with his back facing his former head of house. He turned slowly, still stiff, his eyes wide and cautious, though it was clear to Snape that he was thinking of some sort of lie to spin him. Severus cleared the distance between them in quick strides and grabbed him around the collar of his shirt, ignoring his whimper, and nearly pressed his nose against his.

"I—"

"Do not lie to me, Draco," warned Snape, his voice coated in danger and promises.

"I figured Granger would have— I mean, the Vow—"

Snape released him rather roughly and spun on his heel, swinging open the heavy door and striding down the hall. He could hear his pulse throbbing in his ears and his heart felt like it was nearly in his throat. Anger bubbled and did not dissipate when he saw Astoria and Hermione in the garden, nearly running out the back door to them. Astoria saw him first and her laughing smile wavered when she caught sight of him; she muttered something to Hermione who spun around to him, her brows knitted in confusion.

Roughly grabbing her upper arm, he sneered coldly at her.

" _What prophecy?"_

Astoria frowned in equal confusion but left them to retrieve her son who was gently scouring the hedges for bowtruckles. Scorpius' head popped into sight, but he was ignoring his mother's calls and instead was glowering over at the dark man who yelled at Hermione.

"Get _off,_ Snape," growled Hermione, whipping her arm away from him. He grasped her wrist instead and began pulling her towards the side gate exit of the Malfoy property, heading towards the apparition point. Hermione dug her heels into the grass and broke free of his grasp once more. When Snape turned to her with dangerous eyes to shout to her, he was more than surprised when he was met with her palm violently smacked across his face, leaving an unpleasant burn.

He was only momentarily stunned until Scorpius' cry broke him from his surprise, and Snape could once again feel that unbelievable magic radiating from the woman before him. She glowered up at him, her fists balled tightly and shaking, and she breathed heavily with nostrils flared. Snape could literally feel her anger rolling off her like volcanic waves and was taken aback by the look of utter betrayal that clouded her eyes; it made his heart sink.

"Please tell Draco I will talk to him later," Hermione said quietly, not turning to Astoria. She didn't reply but was busy ushering an upset Scorpius passed them, shooting the old Slytherin a deadly glare only mastered by Mothers. The boy halted and ran to Hermione, hugging her legs and breaking her from her staring match with Snape, and whined against her.

"'Miney!" he cried, tightening his grip. Hermione blinked back what Snape thought were tears and her face broke into a soft smile that looked almost painful for her to wear.

"Shh, Jellybean, I'll be back soon," she said softly, running a hand through his slight waves. He sniffled and nodded, walking back to his mother but not without puffing his cheeks out up at Snape. As they drew closer to the manor doors, Hermione turned back to her ward with an unreadable face. "If you ever do something so _stupid_ like that in front of the people I care about, I will imprison in you in that godforsaken estate and never let you out."

He gritted his teeth, not at all accustomed to such threats from former students, though he was entirely sure she would make well with her promise. He pushed passed her, rage still pricking at him, and left for the apparition point. Snape did not care if anyone saw him.


	15. Immolation

**Immolation**

When Severus landed back at the closest apparition point to Esther Estate, he could still see Hermione's bouncing curls a little way away from him. He stalked through a small crowd, his long legs easily closing the distance between them, and fell in step beside her. She did not look up at him, and he didn't want to make a scene; neither paid any mind to the whispers and stares they received from the residents of Godric's Hollow.

They did not speak as they climbed the hill to the gates of their home which only made Snape more anxious to verbally rip the girl's head off. The moment the heavy mahogany door slammed behind them when they entered the manor, he rounded on her again.

" _What prophetic bullshit, Miss Granger?"_ he asked in a quiet and deadly tone. His gaze pierced down at her, unwavering and daring her to lie.

"Trelawney," she said simply. At no sign of further explanation, Severus grew impatient. Sighing, Hermione walked away towards her room, leaving Snape seething. "Wait."

And so, he did, for a few painfully long moments. His patience grew weak as he grew older, although he did not believe he would be dealing with he same incompetence and insufferable people at this time in his life. He found himself very unfortunate. Hermione suddenly appeared from the top of the stairs with Crookshanks in her wake, weaving dangerously between her legs as she came down. Snape paid no mind to the meowing feline as his eyes were locked on the small, periwinkle-colored orb in her hands. As she came closer, Snape could see the mist curl within it, its whispered voice growing more audible by the second.

 _The Tenth year of freedom will ring in darkness;_

 _Titans will clash, Traitor and Devoted like harbingers of war;_

 _If the Devoted withstands the test of time, Darkness will rise again from its prison_

 _It will not be vanquished_

Snape stared at the orb for some time, allowing the words to repeat, to soak it all in. He opened his mouth to speak when Hermione's fingers released the prophecy and it fell to the floor with a startling crash; shards splayed around them and the mist rose from its prison, the voice of Trelawney groggy like a broken record, until the magic evaporated into the air and all was silent.

"What the _fuck,_ Granger!?" he snarled. She just stared at him.

"You've listened to it four times, Snape. Harry and I already know it; it's dangerous to keep it around. _You_ of all people know that," she snapped. His lip curled at her below the belt comment, though said nothing. "Only a few of us know about this, Draco included. We've all taken a vow of secrecy. This is why I took the Unbreakable Vow, Snape. Because we think this is about you."

"You _think?_ Haven't you dealt with enough prophecies to know that _nothing_ is set in stone; that acting out precautions may actually initiate the prophetic _bullshit?!"_ he growled, nearly shouting now. "And why _you,_ Miss Granger? Why did _you_ take this stupid vow? You've already saved me once, much to your displeasure."

"Snape—"

"What are you playing at, girl?" he demanded, growing closer to her, his boots crunching into the shards of glass.

"Because you deserve to _live!"_ she yelled at him. He was slightly taken aback at her outburst. The glare Hermione cast up at him contradicted her words in that moment. "You…you helped Harry help us all; when I healed you, I knew it would be worth it. Just _one_ life out of so many that we lost—it was important to me, even when I wrongly hated you for _my_ choice. I will not stand and let my sacrifices amount to nothing!"

Severus was quiet then and Hermione could feel the instant regret of her jumbled word vomit. He knew everything came back to her loss in life.

"I deserve to live to appease your savior complex, is it?" asked Snape. His voice was even but hollow. He stared down at the witch before him with unreadable eyes.

"I…that's not what I said."

"Not in such words, Miss Granger," he replied. "I am not a charity case. This world does not owe me a damn thing. Your foolish mindset is both offensive and unnecessary."

Snape began walking away, evading the cat that mewed in objection at his feet, his anger simmering in a defeated way. He hated this feeling—he hated feeling useless and in need of protection. He killed and defended for more than half his miserable life; if this prophecy was about him, he was not sure he could withstand being a martyr again. He was not sure he would fight against a world clearly intent on killing him. His peace was stolen from him one too many times already.

He came to a halt when Hermione grabbed his forearm firmly though he did not turn to her. He could feel her grasp shaking, and she must have, too, for she tightened her hold. When he finally turned, he lost all resolve in his anger at the sight before him. Her eyes were piercing, full of raw emotion that he barely saw in her during their time together; if he didn't know better, he would think she was about to cry. Her face wasn't contorted the way he has seen people cry in misery, but devastation was clearly written across it.

"Severus, I am _so sorry,"_ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I…didn't speak right. I'm sorry for keeping this a secret, but I am especially sorry for…hurting you."

Snape felt his heart skip a beat. Was that what that feeling was? Hurt? Betrayal? Either way, his rage melted away, replaced by slight discomfort at the display on emotion before him, mixed in with what he assumed was forgiveness. He didn't quite understand how she so easily fueled his anger and equally placate it, but he didn't spend too much thought on it.

"I am not hurt, Miss Granger," he said finally. Her brows furrowed. "But I am _annoyed."_

He squeezed her hand slightly before stalking off to his chamber, so quickly that Hermione nearly thought she imagined the comforting gesture. She watched him disappear around the corner to his chambers, mentally berating herself for her tactlessness.

Severus slapped the door to his room with frustration and slid down it to his haunches, his head in his hands as he rubbed gently at his temples and gathered his thoughts. He felt almost numb from the rampant emotions of his discoveries. What would his life be if he was not convinced to return to the United Kingdom? Would he have evaded the cruelty of this damned prophecy?

Hermione awoke with a jump at the abrupt caterwauling siren that echoed from the town below. She swung her legs out from the comforter and grabbed her wand that laid on her nightstand before running out of the room; candles flickered on to light her way down the dark hallway, where she saw Severus' form appear from his room at the other end. Her heart was pounding, so hard she could hear it in her ears and felt it in her throat. They looked at each other for a moment until she descended the stairs with haste.

"What is that alarm?" asked Snape, his wand at the ready.

"Something has happened in town. Stay here."

"Miss Granger—"

"I said stay here!" growled the woman. The door slammed shut after she darted through and when Snape pulled the handle to follow, it wouldn't budge.

"Damn you," he muttered, gazing around the all too knowing manor.

Hermione ran down the steep path of her property to the apparition point and quickly apparated into the town plaza where a large group of wizards and witches gathered. She tried to push herself through the crowd with no success, the townspeople huddled tightly and muttering frantically. She heard a few more _pops!_ of apparition.

"Harry! Harry?" she called, seeing his mussed-up hair from a brief opening among the onlookers. She barreled through until she was beside him, absently grasping at his shirt's sleeve as her eyes fell over the gruesome sight before her.

Roped to the statue of the fountain was the emaciated body of an elderly woman; her gray hair laid in filthy sheets over her face, cascading over shoulders that Hermione could see were dislocated in the worst way. As she grew closer to the dead woman, Hermione almost vomited at the smell of burning flesh and the sight of charred, peeling skin around where the rope dug in. Pieces of partially melted clothing hung off the skin and Hermione froze for a moment as she pointed the tip of her glowing wand to the victim, recognizing the lime green material all too well.

Hermione stepped as close as she could, hand shaking, and pushed some hair away with the tip of her wand, only to be met with he gaunt and tortured face of Evangeline Esther. The old woman's eyes were forcefully removed—whether before or after partial immolation, Hermione could not tell—and her jaw lay slack from her screams.

"Hermione," said Harry as he covered his nose with his sleeve.

"That's Evangeline Esther," she whispered, her voice quivering. She looked at her friend who was grim, his eyes searching hers with unspoken words. "What is it Harry?"

He gave her a crumpled piece of parchment. "This was found…in her mouth."

When Hermione opened it, she felt all hope leave her in an instant, as her eyes fell on her name and Severus Snape written in blood.

 **A/N: Hello kind followers! Sorry, my updates have been sporadic the last month. Work has gotten a little hectic as I've been doing a lot more admin work, and my husband and I have been running around doing for lots of appointments involving moving back stateside. We are so ready. But! We are finally going to London in a few weeks and I'm so excited to go on the HP Studio Tour. It'll be one of our last trips til the move.**

 **Okay so I have the next 3-4 chapters ready. I've been contemplating maybe getting a BETA so I don't have to look over my work countless times out of pure writer's anxiety. Does that make me lazy? Oh well. Anyway, things may slow down a smidge with updates because of the upcoming holidays but I promise the chapters will be worth it.**

 **And don't worry, Benjamin Yew isn't out of this story yet.**


	16. Bare to me, Ye soul

**Bare to Me, Ye Soul**

It was nearly sunrise when Hermione returned to the manor. Severus saw her walking up the path sluggishly from his window and moved quickly to meet her in the foyer. Her messy hair was tied up in a loose bun and her bare feet tracked in dirt from her hasty departure hours earlier. She looked up at him slowly, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall as she searched for the right words. Snape could tell something horrible had happened; he could tell she was locking it all away.

Before he knew it, Snape closed the space between them and laid a gentle hand on the side of her head. She didn't recoil but when she looked up at him with tired eyes, he could see her apprehension.

"Show me," was all he said. Her eyes quickly narrowed in confusion. When she finally understood, she nodded and closed them, lowering her mental barriers to allow Snape into the depths of her spiraling mind.

At first Snape saw flashes of her memories from the past day and frowned as he realized she had been incessantly berating herself for their earlier confrontation. His frown deepened when a flash of his angry face and impulsive hold on her came to his inner eye, cursing himself for being rough. He reminded himself to properly apologize to her later. A brief image of Ron in her bedroom flickered before him, though the ginger was worryingly grey and ill looking; Snape paused there for a moment, wondering what kind of memory ( _or perhaps, a nightmare?)_ he was seeing until a wall of Devil's Snare snaked across the image, blocking him out.

Being in her mind was entirely different from seeing her memories in the pensieve. Her thoughts were layered and layered by more thoughts, riddled with functioning anxiety and academic ingenuity, so much that Snape did not know how she slept. He found himself in a garden labyrinth with hedges that were abnormally high; a few paths that he could see were covered in Devil's Snare, tightly shut off from prying eyes of the mind. He heard the wet, creaking movement of the snare from his right where vines began to recoil and allow him through. He gently pushed his mind through and saw the happenings of the night.

He saw.

He smelt.

He felt.

The event was overwhelming for her as he could hear a far-off whimper from the girl. He gently pulled himself from her mind and was met with her warm body against his. His hands were still midair from where he touched her, lost as to what he should do, and shuttered when her hands coiled in his shirt. His stomach twisted, and he lowered his arms around her soft frame, resting a delicate hand on the top of her head.

"It was a warning," he said quietly. His baritone voice rumbled through his chest and offered Hermione a strange moment of comfort she had not felt in so long.

"Or a promise," she whispered. "I…I'm scared."

Her words left Snape feeling unusually empathetic; he, too, was scared, although he would not admit it. Her admission and immediate acceptance of his entrance into her mind—her deepest, darkest place, where he could have done just about anything—warmed him deeply. He realized that she had given him the ultimate gift: trust.

"You would be foolish not to be, Gryffindor or not. Sometimes, our bravest moments are realizing when we are frightened," he said, and he could feel her smile against his chest. He knew his words sounded completely bizarre coming from him and not the old, muggle-born loving codger, but it was something he thought Hermione needed to hear. He knew she needed to be reassured that fear would not make her weak but _keep her alive._ "Thank you, Miss Granger, for trusting me with your mind."

She pulled away then, rather abruptly, and Snape couldn't help but feel a sense of longing. He was surprised to see her cheeks were tinted pink.

"I—you're welcome?" she said rather lamely that the blush expanded over her neck and chest. She snapped her mouth shut and Snape could not help the amused curve of his lip. "I do, though. Trust you, that is."

Severus said nothing but stared at her, causing the young woman to cross her arms defensively at his inquiring gaze.

"What are we going to do about this, Miss Granger? I'm assuming Potter and the rest of the aurors are handling this case as priority?" asked Snape, tearing his eyes from her.

"I suppose they are. Harry said he would come over later. He went straight into work after he checked in on Ginny and the kids," she said. She eyed him for a moment. "Have you been up all this time?"

He nodded. "Yes. I was…concerned. Clearly, with reason. Someone wants us dead."

"Again," she said with dark humor, causing Snape's brow to raise. She rolled her eyes. "Have to feel better somehow."

"Yes, maybe after one has properly dealt with the emotional turmoil at hand," Snape shot back. Hermione laughed at that.

"Pot and kettle, Mister Snape, pot and kettle."

Snape and Hermione did not sleep after the gruesome display in Godric's Hallow but found themselves in the library for the rest of the morning. The sun beamed through the tall, arched windows, melting the bit of snow that remained from the harsh winter; a kaleidoscope of colors beamed from the stained-glass and danced across the room while they silently read. Despite the peaceful air, the immolated face of Evangeline Esther flashed in their strained minds. That familiar dread was brewing once more.

Their silence was interrupted by aggressive tapping on the windows. Looking up, Snape was shocked by the shadowy silhouettes of about a dozen owls lining the window frame, impatiently pecking and hooting for admittance. Hermione stood, and he could tell she was caught somewhere between pure exhaustion and anxiety as she slowly walked to allow them in. The owls rushed in and dropped their parcels, dispersing before Hermione could reach the owl treat cannister. She frowned at the array of mail messily dropped on the coffee table, most of them angrily crimson.

"Howlers," said Snape, spreading the mail with his wand carefully. A few shook to life and unfolded themselves into aggressive mouths that began yelling.

"TRAITOR! Albus Dumbledore would be turning in his grave if he knew a war hero housed a Death Eater!"

"Shame on you, Severus Snape! You should have stayed _dead!"_

"Whore!"

"Evangeline Esther's blood is on _your_ hands! Give yourself up before more of us get killed, Mudblood!"

Before Snape could react, several fire balls shot into view and incinerated the awful howlers before they could continue their ignorant speeches and fell to a pile of ash atop the rest of the letters. He glanced at Hermione who tapped her wand impatiently in her hand, her cheeks slightly puffed in annoyance. She gingerly pulled the _Daily Prophet_ from the pile and scanned the front cover before groaning in frustration and flipping it for him to see.

 **OF DEATH EATERS AND MUGGLEBORNS**

 _The familiar and brooding face of Severus Snape was spotted in Wiltshire and Godric's Hallow late yesterday afternoon, accompanied by the infamous war heroine Hermione Granger. Severus Snape, supposedly renounced Death Eater and murderer of the late Albus Dumbledore, had been missing in action shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts nearly ten years ago and, although unofficially exonerated by the Wizengamot and Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class, still sits heavy in the minds of magical Great Britain. Friend or foe? Can the once dark follower ever be_ truly _accepted and forgiven for his war crimes?_

 _Enter Hermione Jean Granger, Order of Merlin, First Class: still rather bookish and plain though anything but ordinary in the past few years. Riddled by the gruesome passing of her husband-to-be Ronald Weasley and her own capture by entities unknown, the post-traumatized girl has been noted to have unruly and rather violent outbursts. It was such a public concern to have an unpredictable woman part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Division, that it was rumored her withdrawal from her position was, actually, a forced separation. After all, the job_ is _mentally demanding, and could one touched by so much darkness_ really _be trusted to hunt and detain dark witches and wizards? We may never know._

 _Miss Granger's seclusion from the magical world has left our readers wondering what she is exactly up to at Esther Estate and the enigma has only grown with both the appearance of Severus Snape and twisted killing of Evangeline Esther within forty-eight hours. It is well known over the years that Mister Snape was incorrigible and menacing in his role as Potion's Professor and, briefly, Hogwarts Headmaster during the Dark Lord's reign of terror. Former students have confirmed his malicious tactics while teaching, as well as his convenient nepotism for those in his House and children of Death Eaters._

 _Which leaves us with many,_ many _questions. Has Miss Granger been housing the infamous man? Or is this a moonlit tryst between former professor and student?_

The black and white picture that was blown up on the first page featured two equally aggravated adults just about to reach the path toward Esther Estate; Hermione had spun on the older man and spewed some venomous words (he remembered) and pointed a threatening finger at him. The image looped several times before Severus set it down and rubbed his temples in annoyance.

"Well, the proverbial cat is out of the bag, Miss Granger," he drawled, tossing the paper onto the table and slumping back. He glanced at her. "You know, they will hate you just as they hate me, now that this is public."

"I don't care about any of that," she snapped. "We were supposed to keep a low profile—a _nonexistent_ profile—and instead we let emotions get in the way and exposed ourselves! Now they know where to find you."

Snape smirked at her darkly. "Do you regret this yet?"

Hermione was positively fuming at the lack of urgency the former spy held at the severity of the situation. She could feel the anxiety bubbling from her gut up her throat, her appendages growing cold and shaking. She closed her eyes as she breathed through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, trying to prevent the tremors before they grew too overwhelming.

"No, I have no regrets—about _anything,_ " she shot back coolly. Severus observed her for a moment, noting the clenching and unclenching of her fists at her side, and her erratic eye movement and hard blinking. These involuntary twitches only lasted for a few seconds but in that brief time Snape could feel her magic rolling off from her, hot and cold at the same time, almost breathtaking.

"What is that, that you do?" he asked curiously, unable to help himself. When her eyes fell back on the newspaper he quickly vanished it, causing her attention to turn back to him.

"What do you mean?"

"Just now, I could see you were fighting your anger, but I could also _feel_ you devouring it. It's not the first time I have felt your magic. There was a barrier between us the night you took the Vow and I could not push against it."

Hermione sat next to him then and pulled her feet under her, resting her head against the back of the sofa and bit her lip; she nibbled it in thought as her eyes stared off to a far away place, and Snape couldn't help the urge to pull her pouty lip away and into his own mouth. He mentally berated himself, though he knew his eyes held heat for the young witch. Her eyes snapped to him and Snape was surprised to see them full of shame.

"What if I told you that I only began using magic regularly, recently, after being almost barren for nearly three years?" she said slowly, watching his face for a reaction. He wore a blank expression but blinked several times, clearly caught off guard by her words. "After Ron died and I lost my child, I was worse off than I am now. I fell into this…deep, dark pit of despair. I couldn't use magic properly for such a long time after. I even grew ill, as if my magic was eating me alive. Anything that did happen, I couldn't control. I read every book about it—I know there is something called an _Obscurus_ , but it wasn't quite that, and I didn't fit all the symptoms."

"Yes, they occur usually within children, at most, pre-teens. There hasn't been a case of an adult probably…ever." He paused for a moment, deep in thought. "However, our magic is deeply rooted in our emotions and mental state. Involuntary magic happens often just out of reflex and survival. Your pain…your suffering after your trauma…it left you disconnected?"

Hermione nodded feverishly and felt the fresh release of relief that someone— _Severus Snape of all people!—_ was collected and level headed yet free of judgment while she poured her deepest secrets out. In that moment, she found a new appreciation for the man, and felt as though a path was carved for a mutually rewarding friendship.

"A lot of times I couldn't feel my magic. It was as if nothing was there. All I did was stay cooped up here and—" she glanced at him quickly. "And slept, cried, rearranged the entire house. After months of being a recluse, Mrs. Weasley convinced me to come to James' birthday at the Burrow and as I was helping her prepare the cake, I…"

Snape waited, nodding at her encouragingly until she continued.

"I smelled Ron's aftershave when George walked by. And—well, I lost my shit, so to speak. I was so _angry,_ so—so overwhelmed by memories the scent brought back that I yelled at him." Hermione's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I yelled at him like he and his family didn't also lose another brother that night…another son.

Before I knew it, I felt like my chest was on fire, and all this power just burst out of me. It crushed nearly everything in the kitchen and took out a wall; I hurt Molly and George, and I could have hurt James. After that, I didn't leave this place, because I knew my emotional turmoil wouldn't let me be…normal."

"Molly and George Weasley suffered only small injuries?" asked Snape. She nodded. "And they forgave you?"

"Yes."

"Then don't you think it's time you forgave yourself? For everything. Mistakes were made, and you held no malicious intent. You were hurting. It was out of your control," he said. "You do know that, yes?"

Hermione looked away then, her eyes falling to the ash of the destroyed howlers.

"I feel... guilty, for surviving everything."

"Survivor's guilt is common when there is war."

"It's not just the war. I feel guilty about hurting them that night at the Burrow, even though Molly and everyone reassured me that they understood. I feel guilty that Ron died, trying to save me, and that I lost my child because I just wasn't paying attention. I feel guilty that Evangeline Esther lost her life just for someone to make a point _to me."_

"And to me," corrected Snape. "I have spent many years feeling guilty for things both in my control and outside of it. But most of those years wasting away in my own guilt did not help me, nor anyone else. It did not mend things; I succumbed to it, but I did very little to actually hold myself accountable for the horrible crimes I committed.

I am sure you have done things you are not proud of, Miss Granger, but I am equally sure they are not as barbaric or evil as you may think. Even if you did save Mister Weasley, you would probably still hold these feelings, I believe, simply because you…feel so much."

Hermione gaped at him, causing the man to shift uncomfortably and curse himself for being so…vocal. He knew deep down he wasn't good at these sorts of things, but he also knew suffering and guilt. Those words would probably be engraved as his epitaph in the future: 'Here lies Severus Tobias Snape, Suffering and Guilty in Death as he was alive. May he never know peace.'

"Did you feel like that after…you know, Lily Potter? Did your magic ever leave you?"

It was like she punched the wind out of Snape, her simple words almost crushing him in an instant. He thought about his beloved for the first time in a while, then, recalling the night he held her lifeless body in his arms as he screamed to the Gods to return her, all the while ignoring an infant crying behind him. He thought about the time they shared together and his awful mistakes that made her lost to him, and how guilt ridden he was every day after. He shuttered at the thought that the time he shared with Lily Potter was only the briefest of chapters in his miserable time on earth, and that he spent most of his life without her.

But then, he was okay. Lily smiled at him in his mental recollection, a memory from a time that they walked past each other in Hogsmeade after graduation—a smile he knew he did not deserve—but instead of being overwrought with painful want, the feeling simply came and went.

"My magic was fine after she died. It was fine after most of the horrible things I've experienced, because at the time of these events—except for Lily Potter—I felt justified in my actions," he explained, trying to word in correctly. It was strange, dissecting his persona that had been nonchanging for decades, most of all, divulging it so openly to a former student. "Whereas you are holding yourself far too accountable for the actions of shit people."

She laughed when he cursed, a little immaturely but it felt good; it was just as bizarre for her to be having these conversations with the bat of the dungeons. Hermione smiled at him fondly and Snape had to fight the urge to return it. He realized then how much he enjoyed seeing it and hearing her light laughter that sometimes turned with a snort.

"Do you still feel guilty?" she asked, relaxing her body a bit. Snape studied her features for deception or judgment but saw none; only genuine curiosity and a desire to understand lit her face.

"About Lily? Yes, but find it not as consuming…Everything I had done, I had done for Lily. And when the war was over, there was still no Lily." He was quiet then, falling into dark thoughts again before Hermione laid a gentle hand on his knee. "I know that an honorable man would have done the right thing, regardless, and I was not delusional to think she would return. But I am not an honorable man. Lily Potter— _and James Potter—_ are dead, and I am partially to blame. I felt I redeemed her sacrifice…yet I am empty. I lost my life's purpose."

Hermione moved closer to him, so much that she could feel his warmth radiate, and grabbed his slender, scarred hands into her own, caressing them before giving them a comforting squeeze. His heart pumped erratically when she looked at him with eyes not full of pity but of complete empathy.

"The world knows your story, Severus, and although your hardships do not justify your mistakes and nature, you loved Harry's mum the best way you knew how, however selfish. You still protected Harry," she said softly, then frowned. "Even if you were just _awful_ all the time."

"I have many regrets," he admitted. He liked the way her hands fit with his; small hands, soft to the touch regardless of their scars.

"Maybe we both need to forgive ourselves, and be better people than we were yesterday," said Hermione, smiling.

Snape shook his head. "You need only to forgive yourself for holding the weight of the world and other peoples' wrong doings as your own, Miss Granger. I, on the other hand…will someday manage."

 **A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I'm actually surprised that as many people enjoy this fic, which is more than I expected. I'm sorry things have slowed down with my updates. We are in the middle of moving back to the US so life has been hectic. I just got a new iPad and I'm trying to work out the kinks with uploading docs from it to the FFN app but it doesn't seem to work well. Either way you should be getting another chapter next week :)**


	17. Redemption

**Redemption**

Harry came by later that evening and to disclose as much information he could without violating any nondisclosure. They were gathered in the kitchen and Hermione could see the exhaustion pulling at her friend's eyes, threatening to take over and leave him sleeping on the barstool. She had saved him some brisket and a stoppered vial of Dreamless Sleep, all too knowing that he, one: did not eat anything all day; two: would not eat once he got home; and three: most likely had not been sleeping. He offered her a weak smile and nodded at Snape who also sat at the kitchen island and poured himself a glass of elven wine.

Snape pulled the wine glass from Harry, earning himself an annoyed frown that reminded him of the boy's petulant days in his classroom. He raised a brow and poured however much Harry managed into the goblet, into his own glass.

"If you are taking _that_ tonight," he said, pointing at the draught. "Then you should not be drinking _this_ unless you want to sleep eternally. Fortunate enough for you, I rather enjoy this wine."

Hermione laughed openly into her own glass of wine, her cheeks already a bit tinted from the effects of the magical alcohol. Severus grinned into his own glass as the young man sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration. Snape had to admit he was rather impressed by Harry's accomplishments in the near decade since he had graduated. He was pleased to have read in past journals and news sources that, despite all his glory and the over popularization of his legend, Harry committed to the same trials and training required of any average wizard who wished to become an auror. He read that Harry returned to Hogwarts not too long after the final battle, along with Hermione and Ron, and completed their education while also bringing the castle to its former glory. The boy had even subbed as a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher when needed, as did Hermione.

Deep down, Snape was pleased to see that his teachings did not go without result, however cruel and unorthodox his methods were. It was almost…rewarding. He missed teaching every so often and wondered where he would be if did not seek refuge in the cold mountains of Germany.

"Ben says hi, by the way," grumbled Harry in between mouthfuls of brisket. Hermione was serving Snape a plate when her friend spoke, and the dark man's eyes snapped to her. "He said, 'Tell Hermione I wish to call on her', whatever that means."

Hermione placed the plate down abruptly with a clatter and returned to nursing her drink. Her eyes were looking past them, deep thought written across her face, and swirled the wine absently. Snape watched her closely and noticed she didn't seem as defensive or offended by the idea as she previously did, and it made him feel a bit disappointed. He shook the feeling.

"It means he wishes to visit her," said the man, rather gruffly. "And possibly court her."

Harry's eyes found his friend's and he offered her a lopsided smile, nodding enthusiastically. "Fantastic!"

Hermione rolled her eyes with a sigh and downed the rest of her drink.

"Come on, now, there's more important things to talk about," she said coolly, pouring herself another and gathering some food for herself. "What did you find out?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and gulped down the last bit of food.

"Er…not much about the incident in town, unfortunately. But I _did_ manage to get into the evidence chamber." He paused for a moment and slumped onto the counter, his hand supporting his head. It was clear the food put him past the point of exhaustion. "There are wands missing from the locker designated for the Battle of Hogwarts. Not all of them, but enough. The wands that _are_ there were also wands found at the recent Azkaban break out."

There was a pregnant pause amongst them as the corrupted words left Harry's mouth. Severus thrummed his fingers on his knee as Hermione stared at Harry, their eyes all too knowing.

"Someone did something to the logs, didn't they? There's no way someone wouldn't have caught on to the same wands being input again," said Hermione, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry pushed himself away from the bar and paced, his face twisted in turmoil as he swore under his breath. Hermione watched him sadly as her heart ached for him; he was just _too_ good, too emotionally invested in the livelihoods of others—she knew it was breaking him down, year by year.

"I held Bellatrix's wand that day, at Azkaban!" he nearly yelled, turning to them. "I thought I was imagining things—that maybe I was exhausted or mistaken. But I _know_ it was hers. And I _know_ it shouldn't have been because it should have been locked away!

There is _no_ inconsistency in the logs. No one would notice because the logs were changed somehow, even with anti-charm and protections spells cast on them. They look perfectly normal. Untouched."

"Once again the Ministry has proven itself unimaginably corrupt," drawled Snape. "Have you discussed this with Kingsley?"

"He's the only one who knows. He wants me to be his mole within the department, to keep an eye on things. I told him whoever it is would expect that of me, but he insisted," sighed Harry. He glanced at Snape and wrung his hands like a schoolboy in trouble, and the man rose a suspicious brow at him. "Err…there's something else…"

"Harry?"

"Spit it out, Potter."

Harry slipped his hand into his pocket and produced a sealed letter with the Ministry stamp emblazoned on it. Hermione came around the bar to have a better look, standing excruciatingly close to the older man as she peered over his shoulder, and released a small gasp. Harry offered him an apologetic smile at the incredulity of it all.

"Seems like the Wizengamot is summoning you," muttered Harry.

Snape and Hermione found themselves staring at the entry to the Ministry, both very reluctant to pass through the barrier. He had insisted that he go alone but Hermione was equally determined to accompany him and act as his character witness in case the Wizengamot decided to apprehend him. The letter held no insight to the nature of his summons, which Hermione knew was illegal already, but snapped her mouth shut at the warning look on Snape's face when she was about to unleash a slew of laws and policies he knew very well of.

Unexpectedly, Hermione took his hand and turned to him with a serious look, her brows slightly knitted, and squeezed it encouragingly. It was all he really needed to swallow his caution and, together, they crossed into the Ministry of Magic.

"Whatever happens today, just know Harry and I will fight for you. _Everyone_ will," said Hermione, releasing him.

Severus only nodded, his mind slightly overwhelmed by the bustling traffic through the dim corridors of the Ministry. Employees slowly came to a halt—dozens of them—and stared at Snape with a mixture of disbelief and caution; despite the hushed mutters that echoed through the atrium, Snape held his face as impassive as ever.

Hermione stepped forward first, the onlookers' eyes darting to her instantly as they dispersed in groups to give her way. She said nothing as she held her chin high and back firm, and Snape momentarily felt pride in her presence and power—until he remembered that the public had relatively feared her, because of her prior outbursts. He smirked internally, wondering how many people here were actually _frightened_ by the Gryffindor. It was amusing, to say the least. She was a force to be reckoned with.

Her steps hurried a bit towards the end of the dramatic trek across the atrium and Snape could tell Hermione was losing a bit of her nerve—or patience—when the last group of elderly patrons held firm footing between them and the caged lifts. Their faces wrinkled even more in distaste at the sight of the motley pair, eyes rolling up and down Hermione's form and lips deeply curled disapprovingly. They had not even spared Snape more than a glare before slowly moving on in with grumbled voices.

Snape closed the door of the lift behind them as they entered and found Ministry eyes still peering at them from the atrium for only a few moments until they descended. He heard Hermione release a suffering sigh and turned to find her arms tightly crossed and nails digging into the cloth of her jacket.

"Miss Granger, you are more wound up than I am, and I'm the Death Eater here," said Snape, teasing her slightly. He fought a grin when she glowered at him in annoyance though a slight blush betrayed her.

" _Former_ Death Eater, Snape," she quipped. The voice over the monitor spoke.

" _Level Ten, Council of Magical Law, Wizengamot, Rooms One through Thirteen."_

"To be honest, I'm surprised they haven't arrested you yet," said Hermione as they exited the lift and began following the arrows to their appointed court room. The walls were iridescent and looked almost wet as they stalked the underbelly of the corrupt. "I almost expected the aurors to jump you the moment you set off the wards."

"My, what faith you have, Miss Granger. And here I thought you were a Gryffindor," he drawled. She scoffed and shook her head with an apologetic shrug.

"Maybe it's a good sign."

An auror Hermione did not recognize manned the front door to the courtroom and he looked rather bored and not at all vigilant. He was leaning lazily against the stone wall and drumming his wand against his thigh. She frowned at him when they approached, and his head lolled to the side; upon recognition, the man immediately stood straight.

"A-auror Granger—"

"I'm not an Auror anymore, Mister…?" she said, her brow raising at she stared at the badge-free space on his chest. His eyes widened slightly as his hand shot up over his heart, realizing he forgot his DMLE badge, and swearing.

"Er, Booker, ma'am."

"I see."

Hermione said no more as she opened the door for Snape, who was all too entertained by the exchange, and her eyes did not waver from the obviously incapable auror before her. She followed Snape and made their way through the hall between the high risers of the court room.

"Try not to be a _complete_ arse or bigot, Snape. Chief Warlock Steinmann is a muggle-born man and may not take kindly to your…to you, really," she said, smirking slightly. Snape's brows furrowed at her words but before he could reply, he found himself surrounded by a large audience. He immediately felt every eye fall on him from the overcrowded risers, their voices falling to silence, and he ascended the short stairs to the platform before the Wizangamot. The skin of his nape prickled with the gazes that bore into him and he felt immediately agitated, though his face was smooth. He felt Hermione leave his side and as he watched her go, he saw her sit with a rather large group of what he figured were his supporters: Minerva sat front row, offering him a tight smile, alongside Flitwick and Slughorn; Hermione sat between Harry and Draco, surrounded by a sea of red hair that is the Weasley clan. Snape recognized some former students like Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Susan Bones—all not from his own house—and a few faces he did not know.

He was taken back for a moment, caught somewhere between discomfort and disbelief that the people who came to support him, were the people they were; they were all people he had academically tortured regularly, or people who lost loved ones from a war he was directly tied to. He did not comprehend how their minds could possibly have concluded to support him after all he had done. Despite his motives or lack thereof, Severus Snape still did _everything_ he did.

"Severus Tobias Snape," came the authoritative and mildly accented voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt from above him. Snape's eyes shot to the mezzanine that curved over part of the trial platform. Kingsley's face was smooth as he spoke, though the slight twinkle is his eye almost put Snape at ease as he stood before them. "The Wizengamot as summoned you here today upon discovery of your presence in Magical Britain. Are you currently residing here?"

"Yes," said Snape. He wanted to roll his eyes.

"Where are you currently living?"

"I am currently…a ward of Esther Estate, in Godric's Hollow," he replied. There was a soft murmur, and he knew the speculation involved Hermione. Kingsley nodded and enchanted a quill to record on parchment; Snape was pleased to see that Rita Skeeter was apparently _not_ invited to bare witness to his unavoidable demise.

"Chief Warlock Steinmann was, unfortunately, unavailable to facilitate this unofficial…interview today, Mister Snape, therefore I will be the head of the Wizengamot. All those in agreeance?" said Kingsley, his voice a bit firmer. Every hand of the Wizengamot rose, and his face softened slightly with a brief smile. "Good. Now…"

"Excuse me, Minister, but what is 'unofficial' about this hearing?" Every face turned to the voice of Hermione Granger as she stood from the pew. Snape cursed inwardly; she could never leave something alone. "Every seat of the Wizengamot is clearly full, as if for a real trial. And every spoken word will never be forgotten."

"This is not a hearing, exactly, Miss Granger, nor a trial," answered Kingsley. His eyes held some amusement. "If you are patient, we will momentarily get to that. If not, I regret to say I will have to ask you to leave."

Hermione said nothing though Snape assumed she simmered down and sat as his focus remained on the Minister and his council. Kingsley brought his attention back to Snape, watching the former Death Eater before him through a wide and open lens.

"We have gathered a lot of intel on you over the past decade, Mister Snape. Memories from colleagues of _both_ natures, verbal accounts of character—" he paused. "You have done both unforgivable _and_ selfless things during your time as a Death Eater and spy. Harry Potter had protested against a worldwide manhunt for you post War, and that may be the only thing that has saved you from Azkaban years ago."

 _Fantastic. Saint Potter._

Snape said nothing.

"The Wizengamot has watched and analyzed the memories of Albus Dumbledore for years, to grasp the kind of…complicated man you were as you served him. To see if your actions were justified for the greater good."

Someone snorted behind him—several actually—and Snape could barely contain the all too knowing smirk on his face as the Minister's eyes shot a warning look at the audience.

"I suppose, what I am asking is…why?"

There it was. The exposure he was dreading. Snape was not sure he was ready to rehash a history of both vulnerability and defiance, all webbed together with intricate lies and false intentions. His hands, which were met finger to finger and crowned before him, fell to his sides. He felt defeat threatening him.

It was then that Snape realized he never truly thought about why he joined the purpose in his youth. Was he a bigot? He was half-blood himself. But perhaps that was why: that self-hate of being different, the hate he received by the 'different' part of him that was Tobias Snape, all gearing him towards supremacy—as if the supremacy would somehow rub off on him, and he would be looked at as an equal. In someone's eyes, at least. Then there was the torture he endured during his time at Hogwarts that left more to be desired, too; the constant bullying and mistreatment by those around him—not just the Marauders—definitely leaving him with a bad streak of misanthropy.

But Severus knew, deep down, that although these were reasons for his personality, his experiences were _not_ justifications for his actions.

"I have never been a good man, Minister," he began slowly. There was a low murmur amongst the onlookers. "I have never been accountable for my actions—for who I am as a person. I only began accessing myself when…when Lily Potter died, which was only because of…ah, personal reasons…"

There was a light chuckle amongst members of the Wizengamot and the audience around him, and were it any other time, Snape would have thought they were basking in his embarrassment. He could only imagine the stupid face on Harry Potter as the boy sat in the risers behind him. Minister Shacklebolt did nothing but nod slowly at him, encouragingly, which caused the bitter man to sigh inwardly.

"In hindsight, I can say I wish I did things differently. However…if I could have successfully saved Lily Potter, I believe that the boy I was back then would probably have continued life as a Death Eater." He paused for a moment, staring up at the unwavering gaze of the council; he knew he was saying the wrong words, but they were honest. Snape spent most of his damned life lying. He realized he was too old and too worn down to not live an honest life—for the most part, at least.

A few faces changed and nodded; he supposed they appreciated his honesty. Snape felt a bit more at ease at the words fell from his tongue, so much that he could almost feel parts of himself stitching closed where old wounds lay.

"Lily Potter…" came a hesitant voice from the Wizengamot.

Snape knew already what came next.

"I'm aware you've seen the memories," Snape sighed, becoming a little more miserable with each passing moment. "Just…Lily. At the time, I did not care for the boy."

The Minister held an amused glint in his eye, as if he was inwardly laughing at his own thoughts.

"And now?" he asked, a grin playing in his voice.

Snape's brow shot high and he immediately felt irritated with the entire thing. Here he was, trying to be an honest person to practically strangers, and Kingsley was intentionally trying to disarm him.

"The boy is less irritating, I suppose," he drawled in a way that was typical. More than a few people outwardly laughed, and he could hear Hermione's burst of uncontrolled laughter over everyone. _I'm thankful she is here…_ He shook the thoughts of her from his head, narrowing his eyes up at his former colleague, who was grinning, clearly pleased.

"Your honesty is refreshing, Severus; uncharacteristic of you, but refreshing nonetheless. You must be around some positive influences as of late," said Kingsley, his eyes flickering to the risers quickly.

"No, I am just old," replied Snape, rather flatly, earning a few sniggers. Kingsley shook his head as he gathered parchment together, signaling this excruciating impromptu interview was soon ending. Hopefully.

"The Wizengamot has no intentions of apprehending you for war crimes, Mister. Snape. That is not why you are here," began Kingsley. His face fell a little, and Snape could see decades of trauma and resilience cloud the man's eyes. He almost began to worry. "It has been nearly ten years since the Battle, and we"—he circled his finger around the room— "have decided prior that enough is enough. There will be no more legal dwellings. Our country has not fully moved onward from events caused by Tom Riddle.

"You are here, in all honestly, to give this council and its audience closure on this very long chapter of the magical United Kingdom's history. We have seen your memories through Harry, and although your…intentions and reasons were less than honorable, you still were a crucial asset to the war." Kingsley waved his wand, causing a small podium to emerge from the round floor before them; upon it floated a gold plaque, heavily engraved with ornate design and a soft glow emitting from its words. Snape felt his soul jump within his vessel and his feet were frozen on spot. "And for that, on behalf of the Wizengamot and Great Britain, I award you with the Order of Merlin, First Class, for your service to your country."

Snape waited for Hermione outside the door to the court room as she was summoned by the minister and he found himself almost suffocated by the departing audiences' questions and handshakes. Begrudgingly so, he managed to be polite and politically aware (he did have an Order of Merlin now, he knew he was expected to behave appropriately) although he could not help the wicked curve of his lip at those who sneered unforgivingly at him.

He knew he didn't really deserve an Order of Merlin, but he wasn't about to let anyone _treat_ him like he didn't.

Hermione soon joined him in the hall and they walked with the Potters and Weasley's to the lifts. As he spoke to Arthur, Snape found it difficult to ignore the burning feeling in his face as he could see Hermione positively beaming at him from his peripherals. They squeezed into the lift as it magically expanded for the group of them and almost immediately, he felt someone grab his hand.

Hermione was leaning against the wall of the lift, painfully close, and held his hand with such care and affirmation that his heartstrings pulled unfamiliarly in his chest. Her eyes were soft, softer than he had ever seen them, and full of so much emotion that Snape almost felt it overflow into himself. Her hand found his, hidden behind the bodies that cloaked around them, no one paying them any mind for the briefest of moments; Snape found himself enthralled and, without a second thought, brought her hand to his lips and pressed a dangerously soft kiss to her fingers, his eyes heavy though never leaving her gaze. He watched as her upturned lip parted in slow shock but before she could speak, the lift came to an abrupt stop and its occupants began disembarking.

The sight before them was probably the most unreal thing Severus Snape had witnessed in his life. As he stepped out with Hermione closely in tow, his hand tightly holding his Order of Merlin, he found himself facing hundreds of emotional eyes in the atrium of the Ministry. It initially set him on edge, unsure of the intention of the rather large audience before him.

There was a beat, and then the atrium echoed with the deafening claps of a hundred wizards and witches, soon followed by cheers and praises. Snape nearly jumped from his skin at the surprising welcome, shock clearly written—an expression that deepened further at being passed through the crowd for excitable handshakes—and turned to look for Hermione as they became separated. When his eyes fell on her again, his heart swelled: the young woman he grown to care for was openly weeping, streaks of mascara running down her perfect cheeks, and her knitted brows in contradiction with the watery smile she wore for him.

Only for him.


	18. Ghosts

Ghosts

Hermione and Snape were thoroughly _over_ the crazy influx of mail they received over the next week. Hermione was waiting on a very important document from Kingsley and every time she went through the pile of daily post, she would cast her ward a playful glare when her mail wasn't there, remarking on his newfound fame. He would mockingly frown at her, holding his palms to her in defeat, and shrugged nonchalantly; he didn't care much for fame, he was just glad he was able to leave the manor more often now without risking a verbal lashing from the community.

They both knew that not everyone was nearly as ecstatic about Snape's interview, but it was a start. The very next day after—and almost fighting for the front page of the _Prophet_ over Snape's redemption—was an article and matching picture of the Chief Warlock and Kingsley having a fallout. The pair knew it had to be severe for Kingsley to break his professionalism, so they were not surprised by the article contents: _Chief Warlock Demands Minister Resignation_

The Chief Warlock was a muggleborn who fought tooth and nail to have the seat. He was admirable and determined, though a little narrow minded for the progressive time. He was an advocate for Muggleborns and their place in the wizarding world but in the same breath felt Hogwarts belonged with the boys—men were great leaders, after all. Either way, his preposterous demands were easily snuffed out; the Ministry and the country favored Kingsley Shacklebolt. It was easy to quiet the Chief Warlock, Hermione assumed, because she had a feeling that his summons for Snape were under false pretenses— witness coercion and badgering—and Kingsley most likely made it very clear that he knew about the man's very manipulative, very _illegal_ plan. That was why he very slickly intercepted the meeting.

Severus and Hermione did not talk about the secret show of…whatever it was, between them in the lift, however innocent and gentle it was. Snape didn't mind, though it did weigh on his mind a bit, because he wasn't sure if he was ready to acknowledge such things quite yet. Instead, he found himself spending more time with the girl other than potion's making and the library. He would sit at the island while she cooked, all to amused at her exuberant conversation and the way she spoke with her hands, even while stirring a pot; if he found her in the garden, he also found himself in there shortly after, and found he rather enjoyed further answering her inquisitive questions on herbs—and that, yes, it did matter if nettle had yellow on it or not.

He noticed that she, too, gravitated to him more, though very subtly. A light hand in his shoulder when she laughed or swiping his hair from his face when the humidity of a demanding potion got the best of him— _all_ of which made his heart hammer against his ribcage.

He thought of these things as he watched her glide across the kitchen. She was wearing those godforsaken thin tights that stirred an animalistic need deep in the older man. In those moments, he grumpily remembered just _how_ old he was. His thoughts must have translated on his face because the girl stopped midway with hands full of vegetables and cutting board to frown at him questioningly.

"It's nothing. Here, I can take those," offered Snape, grasping the cutting board and carrots from her hands. He sneered at the look of shock on her face.

"You? Oh, how the mighty have fallen… into the domestic pit," she teased in between laughs. He rolled his eyes at her and cut a carrot in two with a snap, looking up at her. She smiled at him and seemed like she wanted to say something but thought differently before returning to the cabinets.

Something more weighed at his own mind.

"Miss Granger…" he began quietly. She did not turn as she searched the cabinet for something high and deep within, but she grunted in acknowledgment. Snape stopped cutting. "Hermione."

She paused mid-stretch as she was on her tippy toes and turned to him with the tilt of her head.

"What's wrong?"

Her face slid into an impassive shield, irrationally so; sometimes Snape forgot how quickly she adjusted herself when things became uncomfortable for her, ready for the impending doom.

"I am not a bigot," he said. Hermione's mask cracked with confusion for a moment before she blinked it away, opening her mouth to speak. "I have thought about a lot since the Wizengamot, about my story. I…I just wanted to make sure that _you_ know that I am not prejudiced against muggleborns. I'm not prejudiced against you."

Hermione blinked again, her mind completely caught off guard by his unwarranted words. She had not thought about that _at all_ , which made her feel a bit uneasy because she _probably_ should have; just because Snape had been a catalyst in the war for their side, didn't mean he could not have held onto parts of his other life. But perhaps, deep down, the reason she didn't think about it was because she didn't want to. She had a certain respect for Severus Snape—throughout everything—even if he was completely unmanageable for most of her experience with him.

Hermione's face broke from its stoicism as a soft smile played at her lips. She came around the kitchen island and gently covered his hand with her own.

"I didn't think you were. But thank you, for clearing that up. Thank you for caring what I think," she reassured. Without thinking, she pressed her lips to his cheek, soft as satin against the coarse pricks of a five o'clock shadow. Snape froze in his seat as his breath caught in his throat, his idle hands nearly dropping the vegetable and knife he was working with. She turned from him without a word, humming softly to herself as she once again extended onto her toes to try and reach whatever was high in the cabinet.

Severus' thumping heart and adrenaline took over and before he knew it he closed the distance between him, curving behind her to reach the spices, and earning himself a surprised yelp from the young girl. He was so close he could smell the coconut and oils in her hair wafting below him—it was intoxicating. She turned slightly as he placed the spice on the counter, and the drilling, challenging look she wore was possibly even more intoxicating that it drugged him.

Severus slipped nimble fingers through her soft curls on either side of her face, sliding his hands gingerly against her scalp and drawing her unbearably closer. He could feel her stiffen under his touch and he almost pulled away, thinking he made a mistake, until he felt her own hands crawl up his chest and settle on the buttons of his jacket; her bottom lip was curled behind the teeth of the other as her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, melting and basking in the comforting curve of his palms.

"Severus…"

He was on her then, bending down to release her abused lip just to capture them with his own, a hand releasing from her locks to grasp her around the lower back and hold her tightly, causing her to whimper. She gasped against his lips and pulled him by the jacket before pressing him against the countertop, earning herself a deep, sensual growl. Hermione opened her mouth to explore his and was pleased by his natural taste, which only caused her to release an airy moan.

They tore apart when they both felt the warm vibrations of the manor's wards. Snape and Hermione were breathing heavily as they searched each other's eyes; the wards vibrated again, but their hands were still entangled around one another. Hermione's brows were knitted with emotions as her cheeks burned hot with a mixture of hormones and fluster, and Snape had to admit he rather liked seeing her this way.

"I…oh, the door!" stammered Hermione. She was uncharacteristically loss for words now—but after all _that,_ who wouldn't be? She quickly detangled herself, much to the man's displeasure, and sprinted out the kitchen towards the main door. He watched her go, breathless himself, but froze under scrutinization of the feline kind as he found Crookshanks staring peculiarly up at him from the doorway, his fluffy tail whipping around the floor.

"You probably didn't see that coming, fat beast," sneered Severus. Crookshanks yawned in a bored manner and turned his tail to the man with a whip before disappearing to the hall.

Severus heard the muffle voice of a man from the foyer, and he inwardly groaned at the inopportune timing it served. He sat back at the island and proceeded to chop even though he was distracted by the overwhelming tightness in his pants. His arousal soon died when Hermione re-entered the kitchen with Benjamin Yew, his current least favorite person in the world. He ignored the young man's claiming touch at Hermione's lower back and focused on his face and body language more so; Snape reminded himself that he didn't care for the man the moment he met him—even before his unexpected attraction to Hermione—and he would breakdown his character every time he met him.

"Oh, I didn't know you had company," said Yew, pausing for a moment with a raised brow at the dark man.

Snape looked at him from the corner of his eye. "I live here, or has your small mind forgotten that already?"

Benjamin laughed openly and shrugged, not giving the brooding potioneer another look as he turned to Hermione with a knowing grin.

"Hermione, could we talk in private, perhaps?" he asked lightly, watching her fiddle with the stove. Snape could see her stiffen and frowned to himself. If Benjamin's simple words put the girl on edge, what could a physical act do? It made Snape's stomach turn, realizing that his animalistic attack of her lips could have been unwarranted; his insides twisted even more realizing he didn't think about what _she_ wanted before so carelessly acting on hormones.

Hermione nodded and glanced at Snape before leading Benjamin to the patio, closing the French doors behind her. She caught Snape's eye through the glass for a moment, but she tore away and gave her guest her attention.

Hermione had to admit that Benjamin Yew was a painfully handsome man—maybe even unrealistically so. His eyes were gentle even though they held the mischief of a schoolboy within them, but sometimes she saw more when he looked at her; she could see them darken with need and want but she was unsure if she wanted to be on the receiving end of all that. Still, he was kind enough; Benjamin often brought her flowers and wrote to her, and during the brief time they worked together at the ministry, he had even taken her for coffee. They were simple signs of affection that had gradually became less bothersome in the years following Ron's passing, especially when the young American threw bookish socials in the mix.

"I know I have been relatively open with my intentions over the past year, Hermione," began Benjamin, pulling the brunette from her conflicting thoughts. The man was eying her carefully, his expression unreadable. "I have tried giving you the space you need because you deserve it. I've watched you go through unheard of hardships and emerge more powerful than ever but…"

"But?" said Hermione. She felt goosebumps on her nape and she knew Snape was staring from behind. Benjamin stepped a little closer and although she wanted to flee, Hermione kept her ground and awkwardly curled her hands behind her back. Benjamin looked pleasantly surprised when she didn't back away from the proximity, though he knew he was dancing on a fine line.

"I can't help but still want you, Miss Granger," he said in a low, purring voice that made Hermione's stomach clench. His hand came down and he rubbed coarse fingers across her cheek bone before settling under her chin. He lifted her face slightly, but firmly, almost possessively, and Hermione almost felt herself entranced by his pools of blue. "I could make you happy, you know. You would never have to worry about a thing because I would take care of you; no one would hurt you…ever again."

"Benjamin—"

His lips swooped down and caught hers with the skills of a passionate man. It was only a few seconds, but when he was finished with her she felt unusually disoriented. Benjamin still held her by the chin and his handsome face was mere centimeters from her own as he stared into what she felt was her very essence. She was almost breathless by the encounter.

"Be mine, Hermione. I will be waiting." He kissed her forehead and caught Snape's dark gaze from over the short woman, a fire burning within them both. Benjamin cast the man an arrogant grin that concerned Snape far more than it made him jealous. He released Hermione and moved past her back through the house to the front door, his eyes unwavering from Snape as he made his exit.

Severus glanced back at the patio where Hermione stood facing him, her fingers gently examining her lips as if the kiss was an unearthly occurrence to her.

"Miss Granger?" Snape called, donning on a formality that felt rather foreign to him so soon after his own intimacy with the woman. He hammered down the nails on his bleeding heart and centered himself once more, assuming his emotional loss and rose from his chair.

Hermione looked up at him with a rather dazed expression and walked past him quickly.

"I need to lay down, I think. I'll be back," she said, clearing her throat. He frowned at her though nodded. He wondered what their conversation was about on the patio, and he couldn't help the sinking feeling that perhaps she was out of his grasp. Snape watched Hermione quickly leave the kitchen and disappear up the stairs to her chambers, Crookshanks not far behind.

Sighing, Snape turned to the dinner they were both preparing, replaying their own private moment with both a full and tortured heart. He was foolish, he knew, to have thought anything could come from this; he was even more foolish to act on impulse and kiss her, and he secretly hoped they could just continue as if nothing happened. Severus could not deny his feelings for the young witch but, more so, he had realized that she has been a constant in his life for the last half year, and he rather enjoyed her as his friend. A little neurotic and volatile at times, but a friendship he valued, nonetheless.

Twenty minutes passed, and dinner was done. Hermione was still hauled up in her chambers and Snape decided to offer her the proverbial olive branch by bringing her dinner. He laid the bowl of hot stew and a plate of rice on a serving tray along with wine and some scraps for Crookshanks before making his ascension to her room. At the stairs landing he could hear Hermione's muffled mutters from down the hall, interrupted here and there by her bell-like laughter; he paused for a moment, unsure if he should continue and riddled by his own anxiety, but decided to press forth. As the tray floated beside him, he knocked softly on her door, to which he earned no answer.

"Miss Granger?" he called. Still, no answer. When he knocked again the door slowly opened just enough to see inside, and all breath was sucked out from his lungs.

There, sitting in the middle of a maroon, shaggy rug, was a dazed looking Hermione holding a conversation with someone who was not there. She had a collection of pictures spread across the floor as she continued to talk to someone above her. Snape felt invasive at first, ashamed her caught her in a moment of lunacy, until his eyes fell Crookshanks who swiped at a misshapen, soot-colored stone that glimmered on the floor before her. His heart skipped a beat.

 _It couldn't be…_

"Crookshanks, stop, you're upsetting Ron," sighed Hermione. Her face crinkled for a moment, as if listening the words of a specter. "What-?"

The chamber door flew open and hit the wall with a hard bang, the candles in the hall lighting with a fiery blaze that Snape almost felt like he was in Hell. Hermione slowly rose to her feet and swiped up the Resurrection Stone before turning on her former professor; her face was haunted and contorted with such rage Snape had never seen on the girl ; ; he was sure he was about to meet his moments on earth. Hermione's chest heaved with shaking breaths as that powerful magic rolled off her, shaking the room and its contents with an ominous low rumble; stepping dangerously close to the man, she closed her eyes and let out a breath, trying to calm herself.

"Get…out."

Her quiet voice was chilling, and before Snape could open his mouth to speak, the wood panels of the floor under him shifted and sent him zipping down the hall as if on a conveyor belt, abruptly stopping before his own bedroom. From where he stood, he could hear her door slam close again and a heartbreaking wail echo through the estate.

Snape rushed into his room, his heart thumping and adrenaline rushing through him, before making what he thought was the best decision, however brash. He settled before his personal fire place and called out.

"Potter Estate!"


	19. Intervention

**Intervention**

Snape was momentarily deafened by the flames of the floo network as he was transported into the living room of The Boy Who Was Still Rather Annoying. He heard the clank of silverware as a red topped head popped out from a doorway.

"Hermione—oh, hello Professor," said Ginny, a confused smile playing at her lips. "I mean, Snape."

"Hello, Ginny. Is Potter home?"

"Yeah he's just in the kitchen. Harry!" She yelled for him as she rubbed her swollen belly. Her eyes snapped to the older man. "Has something happened? Is Hermione okay?"

"That depends," he said rather quietly. Ginny stopped tending to her unborn child and stuck her head through the doors, calling Harry a bit more roughly now. The young wizard rushed through and paused when he saw his former professor, his face slipping into shock for a moment at the sight of the surly man standing in his home. He would have never thought.

"Er, Snape, what's—"

"Were you aware that your dear friend is in possession of the Resurrection Stone?" drawled Snape. There was an uneasy silence between them until one of the Potter children began crying in the dining area, to which Ginny left to attend to. She gave her husband a sharp look before disappearing.

"She...what?"

"The. Resurrection. Stone. Miss Granger has it. She's been using it. Late at night sometimes I would hear her talking to someone who I assumed was a...lover. Imagine my surprise when I found out it was a _dead_ lover."

Harry ran a frustrated hand through his messy hair and sighed deeply as he leaned against the wall, staring at Snape as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"I saw her with it," confirmed Snape. Something clicked in his mind then. "Also…the other night, after that gruesome discovery in town, she let me in her mind. For the briefest of moments, I saw Mr. Weasley… but he was not quite him. He was grey and sick looking, almost rotting. She quickly pushed the memory from me, but I am positive it's what she is seeing with that damn stone."

"I don't even know where she would find that. I left it in the Forbidden Forest."

Snape raised a brow, stopping himself from giving the boy a proper verbal lashing at his nonchalance, but thought better of it. It wasn't the time. "She substituted at Hogwarts, correct?"

Harry paused for a moment then groaned. "Of course!"

"I don't have to tell you how disturbing the effects of the stone can supposedly have on a person. With Miss Granger's...troublesome past, I doubt it is helping her recovery."

Ginny returned to the room and sat ungracefully on the afghan covered sofa. She offered her hand to them, telling them to sit as she huffed while getting comfortable. She nervously looked between her husband and her former professor, worry creasing her brow.

"She told me she got rid of it," said the red head rather quietly. Harry shot her an incredulous look mixed with anger as he turned on her.

"You _knew_ she had it?! And you didn't say anything?" asked Harry, his voice rising. Everything was beginning to be too much. He expected more from his wife. "Ginny, she has been unstable for a long time. Something like that-like the _stone—_ won't help her. It can only make this worse. She can never get better."

Ginny suddenly began crying, which was a surprise to both men, and waved her hand at her face to cease her tears, though to no avail. Her face was covered with red splotches from her emotional turmoil.

"How could I deny her? All she wanted to do was see Ron. To see my brother," she said through sniffles then turned to Snape. "She came to me after her last substitution at Hogwarts a little over a year ago. She said she was able to scour the forest with the help of the centaurs."

"But they rarely help any human," Harry pointed out.

"Unless the outcome would remove a fragment of the human touch from their homes," said Snape. They looked at him in confusion and he shrugged. "The Deathly Hallows weren't exactly natural happenings, according to legend that is. I would very much doubt the centaurs would want an unstable part of _our_ history tainting their precious forest."

"That makes sense. Hermione said they also recognized her from fifth year. They were cordial," added Ginny. Her crying mellowed to soft sniffles, but she still looked entirely miserable. "It didn't take them very long to find the stone."

There was silence for a few moments and Snape could tell the boy was still stewing at his wife's secret. Snape knew the desperation love could cause, so he found himself empathizing with the traumatized witch; he had done so much for what he loved, how could be completely judge Hermione on her use of a Hallow?

He shook the thought from his mind because, regardless of how much he could understand the pain, Snape knew that it was a matter of life or death. Hermione was too far gone in her fractured mind to possibly withstand the darkness the stone could have in store for her. Snape knew, deep down, nothing good could come from it.

"Have you...did you see Ron, too?" asked Harry in a small voice. Ginny shook her head.

"I didn't want to. I didn't want it to be...it's not real, you know? But Hermione was so excited. She couldn't be told otherwise."

"How are we going to handle this?" asked Snape. The couple glanced at each other knowingly before raising brows at him.

"'We'? That's awfully _nice_ of you, Snape," teased Ginny. Luckily for him, he didn't bite the bait.

"I do live with her. And despite your school age memory of me, I am not that awful of a man to wish ill upon the girl."

Ginny chuckled as she placed a hand on her husband's shoulder to help herself to stand. Harry rose as well and ran a gentle hand over her hair before placing a kiss on her forehead. Snape averted his eyes, uncomfortable with the private moment, however brief.

"Well, I suppose we should have an intervention now. Do you think Molly could watch the kids for a while? I think we should all go," said Harry. Ginny nodded and hurried off to make arrangements through the floo network with her mother, reassuring her nothing too serious was happening.

Harry took this time to turn to Snape with a kind and knowing smile that caused the dark man to audibly groan. It was the same, stupid "I know things" smile Lily often wore in his youth, but he could confirm the young man's was far more annoying.

"I don't know what's going on with you and Hermione, but I'm glad you're there to take care of her," said Harry.

"She doesn't need taking care of."

Harry's smile broadened a little more. "No, I guess she doesn't."

There was a full silence again, and Snape spoke before he could help himself.

"Benjamin Yew came again yesterday. Hermione seemed bothered by his presence," said Snape. Harry scoffed and waved a hand. "I do not trust him, Potter."

"He's harmless," argued Harry.

" _I_ do not trust him," repeated Snape, firmer and colder this time. Harry considered him for a moment and nodded slowly, his face a bit more serious now.

"I'll keep an eye out."

Snape led Harry and Ginny through the floo and quickly ushered them out of his Chambers as they gawked at the luxury. As they turned the hall they found themselves intercepted by the half kneazle who sat below the large painting that overlooked the foyer; his orb-like eyes rolled over them in a bored manner as one eye lazily blinked a time. He yawned, still staring.

"Hi there, Crook," said Ginny. He meowed at her and sauntered over, weaving between her legs and rubbing against her. His tail flicked, and he turned and darted down the stairs. The cat paused at the bottom floor and turned back to them with a grumpy meow.

"Come," said Snape as he began his descent. Ginny and Harry exchanged weird looks before following Snape who seemed to be following the fat cat-beast that led them into the parlor.

Hermione sat with a glass of whatever her poison was as the old record player hummed out a worn tune; the candles were low and the fireplace provided a soft glow that flickered with the shadows. Crookshanks meowed again before jumping onto her lap and curling in a ball when her hand absently came down to love him. She did not acknowledge her visitors.

"Hermione," said Ginny as she cautiously sat beside her best friend. She didn't reply, though was determined to keep her eyes away. The red head turned to her husband with a sad frown which caused him to come around the other side and sit in the armchair across from them

"'Mione." Hermione visibly flinched at his words and released a suffering sigh.

" _Hermione,"_ she corrected. She sounded drained and full of exhaustion which Snape knew must have been from the emotional whiplash of the stone.

"Where is the stone?" Asked Harry as he laid a gentle hand on her arm. She turned and gave him a bitter smile as she opened her palm, revealing the Resurrection Stone. It gleamed in the light of the fire; it was incredible how something so small could be so sacred.

Harry reached for it, but she quickly snapped her hand closed and held it to her chest. Her eyes sought out Snape and before they knew it she was scurrying to her feet and closing the distance between them. She pushed the stone into his hand.

"Turn in thrice in hand, keep holding it," she muttered as she closed her fingers around it. Snape tossed it back to her like it burned him and shook his head.

"No, Hermione."

"Just turn it three times. And you can see Lily again!" Hermione's voice was frantic although it was very clear she was annoyed by Snape's objection to its powers. He paused for a moment and stared at the stone she held before him like a sacred wonder of the world. She handled it delicately as she still presented it to him.

 _I could see Lily again…_

His internal monologue was interrupted by the sight of the woman before him, so very torn and neurotic, emotionally dishevelled from the shade of a person she had devoted her love and energy into.

 _Devoted…_

Snape raised his hand in refusal once more and shook his head again.

"Hermione," he said softly as he pushed her offering back to her. He felt the loss of magic that radiated from the stone as it left his personal space; there was an alluring and haunting pull from the stone, and he was sure that was enough to make a person insane. "Lily is dead. Ronald Weasley...is dead."

She didn't speak as she clenched the stone with a shaking hand.

"What you are seeing… what you are talking to is a shade of the person he once was. This is not his plane anymore, and he deserves peace," he told her softly. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths and he thought for a moment she was to explode. "And _you_ deserve peace. You need to-"

"Don't tell me what I need," she said in a voice that was barely a whisper. Snape's mouth snapped shut but he held her dark gaze with stern eyes.

"Hermio-"

"You've used it before, Harry. How can you judge me on this?" Exclaimed Hermione. Her voice was solid and accusing, holding none of the frantic sound he expected from her. But Snape could tell she was compartmentalizing and detaching emotion from her argument in fear of being thought as delusional and crazed. She needed to make it sound logical and right.

But everyone in the room, including Hermione Granger, knew that logic had long been gone and all there was, was a young woman wandering in the emotional aftermath of love lost.

"I did use it before," Harry answered calmly. "Only once, before I decided to die, and it was...amazing. But, Hermione, just like the Mirror of Erised, it can make you go mad."

"You can't go mad, Hermione," added Ginny. Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"I already _am_ mad. At least let me enjoy it," she replied.

"But _are_ you enjoying it?" came Severus' voice, pulling her attention back to him. Her brows came together as if she considered him for a moment, but she did not speak. "Are you truly enjoying going out and looking for Ron in every crowd you see? Are you happy that when it becomes too much, you rush home and lock yourself in your room and talk to the shade of the man you love? Have you been able to ignore the disappointment when you realize he is confined to those same quarters yet he cannot even sleep beside you?"

"Stop-"

"That stone is stealing him away every time you let go of it," said Snape. His voice held more conviction that he expected, and he almost backed off when he saw the storm brewing in the witch before him, but he kept his wits. She needed to hear it all.

"It's not just Ron!" Hermione nearly shouted. The flames that lit the room blazed violently and brighter with every octave of her rising voice until she whimpered at the effect of her unchecked magic. She grew quiet again, fiddling with the stone. "I see my child. It's with him. Eternally...unborn. But it's there."

Silence overcame them. The entire situation was far more morbid than Severus could have ever imagined. He was at a loss for words and internally retreated-how could he possibly convince her otherwise, now? Snape could never understand an inkling of her pain.

It was in that moment that Severus really _saw_ his former students. He could see the demons that haunted their faces etched in worry lines and frowns; he could see their eyes wander to a faceless being beyond their company when their minds stir with the ghosts of the past. They were not children anymore. In fact, he was sure they were never children. They were born and raised amidst warring times and fought an onslaught of darkness bred from generations before them.

For the briefest of moments though effective still, Severus Snape held admiration for the man and women before him and, by extension, all his former students who rose to meet such deplorable events and still push forward. But pity also followed closely behind, and it clawed at Snape's chest.

Ginny rose to her feet with a newfound fire gleaming in her eye as she cut across the spacious room and grabbed Hermione's hands. The hallow dropped to the floor and rolled onto the rug but when Hermione shifted to scoop it up, Ginny held her firmly in place.

"Hermione, no," Ginny said firmly, almost as if she was scolding her own children. Unshed tears shone in the fierce eyes of the pregnant woman as she placed a hand on her friend's cheek. Hermione started at the touch, almost pulling away until she was stilled by the look she received. "Hermione, you are a mother. Cruelty might have taken his physical body away, but you will always- _always_ \- be a mother. You are not less because of your loss. You are the strongest person I've ever known, and I know you are strong enough to...to let go. To find love again, to love another child but, most of all, to love yourself."

Ginny's voice cracked again when tears began rushing down her face. She held Hermione as if she were afraid to lose her-and maybe she was right to be fearful. Hermione was lost to them for so long, and their fear of pushing her away further kept their mouths closed from voicing concern when they knew better. Hermione's face was momentarily unreadable as she stood in silence; pulling her hands from the tight grasp, Ginny frowned at her in rejection until she was overcome by a mess of curls. Hermione hugged her tightly around the shoulders and released a heartbreaking wail that shook Snape to his core. He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his own arms and tend to her needs.

Harry took this moment to carefully scoop up the Resurrection Stone into a cloth he pulled from his pockets and wrapped it entirely. He looked to Snape as he held it up and made to exit the parlor, signalling the dark man to follow. They walked out of earshot of the parlor before speaking again.

"I'm not sure if there's a way to destroy this thing, or if it would be dangerous to," said Harry. "Either way, we have to get rid of it."

Snape nodded but before he could speak there was a low rumble through the hall. He whipped his wand out and was appalled that the young auror didn't follow suit. Snape was further frustrated when he saw the small smile Harry wore as he held up the wrapped stone. Suddenly, the high ceiling of the hall seemed to melt into a liquid surface, reflecting their forms from below, and rippled slightly. It was as if they were staring at an oceanic abyss.

"What-"

The liquified ceiling drooped low into a long tear drop and engulfed Harry's hand for a moment before ascending once more. The stone was gone and right before his eyes, Snape watched the ceiling ripple once more until it stretched back to its normal appearance. He looked over at the Boy Wonder who wore a rather smug expression at his former professor's wordlessness.

"Wonderful thing, this house. It'll keep her safe and the stone away."

Severus could not wait to escape this Manor one day.


	20. I Say a Little Prayer

I Say A Little Prayer

Severus was pleasantly surprised by the lack of rage he predicted he'd encounter after outing Hermione and her nefarious hobby. Hermione spoke more often than expected although she was a bit short, but, still, she offered to get him his laundry list of requests as her weekly shopping was upon her again. When she reached for his list, Snape slickly pulled it away and earned himself an exasperated expression he couldn't help but smirk at.

"I think I'll join you today, Granger," he said as he pocketed the note. Hermione blinked several times.

"I guess you can, yeah? Now that the world knows you're here." Hermione slipped on a rain jacket and shot him a withering look over her shoulder. "Even though people _do_ want us dead."

Severus shrugged. "What else is new?"

A shimmering charm rose out from the tip of Severus' wand, keeping the rain at bay as the two easily navigated the light crowd in Diagon Alley. Hermione stood close to him on the unusually chilly day which he found nearly unbearable in public; despite the leering and curious eyes, he found himself still fighting the urge to encase her within his arms and take her away. Such urges were becoming more frequent and harder to prevent as time went on.

In addition to the overwhelming thump of his heart against his rib cage whenever he stole a glance at the girl, Severus felt a bit anxious being in the alley. It had been years since he was around so many people—and it wasn't nearly as busy as usual! —and he realized that, despite the lingering danger he was still in, he was walking the cobblestone alleyways as a free man.

 _But only_ so _free,_ he mused.

He was no longer wanted. He was no longer a spy for Dumbledore or for Voldemort. But he was far from being free from the past as both the mental and physical scars often reminded him.

His internal musings were cut short as Hermione abruptly turned down a way that he knew was part of Knockturn Alley. He grasped her hands quickly and rose a brow. She turned to him with a confused look until a soft smile graced her face.

"Don't worry. Knockturn Alley has downsized quite a bit while you were gone. We are still in the safe zone," she explained as she gave his hand a squeeze. She led him around the bend and, much to his surprise, she was correct.

Although a lot of the shopping area for wizard kind lost businesses during the war and was replaced by different owners, it was still thriving. The narrow alley the girl led them to was no different as it played home to over a dozen small vendor booths and their products. From where he stood Severus could see everything from dirigible turnips to foreign chocolates. It was a tight squeeze through the building crowd and voices layered over each other with the hustle and bustle of haggling. It definitely was the busier side of Diagon Alley.

Snape lowered his wand when he noticed the sky above the market Alley was enchanted to bar the rain and he looked around with mild worry as he lost sight of Hermione in the sea of cloaks. He was about to cast a _sonorus_ to call to her when her mass of curls bounced only a few feet away from him, her hand waving in the air excitedly. He pushed his way through and found his way beside her.

"Granger—

"Severus, _look!_ " said the girl as she shifted around him to make him take her place closer to the vendor.

As Severus looked over the risers filled with enchanted wooden figurines his eyes fell on a few more intricate pieces, and a mixture of contradicting emotions coursed through him. A chess set rested in the center of the display with smokey details sprawled across the sides— he quickly realized they were spell work—and anointed atop were beautifully carved replicas of key players in the Second War. Snape's inner boy marveled at the pure craftsmanship of the set, but he was quickly left breathless at the sight of his own piece. The craftsman even got his nose right. He saw Harry's piece was positioned as King, right beside his own, the Queen, and Snape could appreciate the accuracy of placement although he felt mild embarrassment. He could have gone his entire life without the world knowing the truth regarding his protection of the Boy Wonder.

As Severus grasped his own piece, the vendor, a robust and short man, wobbled over to greet them. His cheeks were tinted pink, whether from the brisk air or Meade, and stopped short when his caught full sight of them. His eyes widened and quickly wiped grime from his hands onto his apron.

"O-ho! Hello again Miss Granger! And oh, Mister Snape, what an honor!" exclaimed the man exuberantly. His eyes glanced around as he noticed his excitement caught the attention of several bystanders, and he waved his hand in embarrassment. "Sorry, me words got the best of me."

Still excited, the vendor shook their hands and hushed his voice. "I err…worked very hard on this, you see. I hope you like it."

Hermione beamed at him as she ran a gentle finger across the hair of her own piece, clad with her unmistakable enchanted pouch.

"It's lovely, Claude. Your work is always beautiful," said Hermione as she smiled. The vendors blush deepened, causing Snape to smirk in good nature. He understood the man's reaction to Hermione entirely.

"Thank ya miss. Oh, uh, they don't move neither, not like Wizards Chess. Good ol' muggle style," he said. "I figured it would be better for the children if _those_ didn't move." He motioned towards the side of Death Eaters that also included Umbridge, which Snape found both accurate and amusing.

"For the adults, too, no doubt," Snape added. The vendor nodded fervently before turning his beady eyes obscured by bushy brows up at the dark man.

"It's still a dangerous time, Mister Snape," he said in a hushed voice, glancing back at Hermione who was admiring an intricate book shelf on the other side of his stand. "For everyone. Keep an eye on that one. She's a special lady."

Severus nodded, though his eyes were focused on the young witch. It may have been the most lively he's seen her in a long time, and he was enthralled all at once. "That she is." He didn't notice the man watching him peculiarly as his own eyes followed Hermione's form bouncing back and forth between items, his insides melting when she glanced back with a small smile.

Snape turned back to the man and pulled out quite a few coins to offer the vendor, who in turn rose very bushy brows at him. "For the chess set."

"Oh uh…this is far too much, Mister Snape," he replied, stumbling over his words as he began pushing the excess back to Snape. The dark man raised his hand to stop him.

"Nonsense," Snape replied. He shrunk the set to fit in a small pouch that hung from his belt. He eyed the man for a moment. "Thank you."

Claude the vendor nodded excitedly, the blush on his cheeks depending as Hermione waved at him before departing.

"Are you ready to find the rest of your ingredients? The potion shop is only a few alleyways from here," said Hermione, her eyes floating down to his pouch. Snape's hand covered it from sight which earned him a childish frown, and he smirked in return. Without thinking, he pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow as naturally as if they had always done this; much to his pleasure, she didn't recoil or seem surprised but rather fell in step close beside him.

"I rather like this market. I'm sure I can find most supplies here."

Hermione nodded excitedly and began going on about the economic crisis most small businesses still suffered by in the wizardry world, explaining that she mostly shops at these small vendors for this reason; it was a conversation Severus normally would have gave his undivided attention to but he found he was distracted by the blurred image of a tall and cloaked figure standing in an archway headed to Knockturn Alley, who watched them before disapparating.

A while later as they exited the market area into Diagon Alley, their hands filled with bags of herbs and dittany, Snape tried to dissuade Hermione from further shopping, but she insisted they had lunch together. This normally would have made the dark man's not-so-dark heart soar if it wasn't for the impending sense of danger he felt after spotting the cloaked figure watching them from afar. He conceded begrudgingly, which he was sure she thought was due to his antisocial tendencies and followed her to a small pub he wasn't familiar with called Magic & Musings. When they entered, he paused for a moment as his eyes fell on the rather and extensive aisles of books that curled around dining tables and weaved a labyrinth throughout. A small chuckle escaped from him, causing Hermione to raise a brow at him.

"A…book pub? I don't know why this surprised me," he teased lightly. Hermione grinned at him before turning away with mild embarrassment, which Snape only saw as an invitation to continue. "Tell me, how many books have you read here? Undoubtedly, you own some of these."

Hermione muttered something incomprehensible before diving further between the aisles and dining guests.

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you, Miss Granger," he purred as he leaned his face close to her ear.

"All of them!" grumbled Hermione. From his angle he could see her bite back a grin, the flush that overtook her face and neck making her as delectable as ever. He rather enjoyed his side of her, the antithesis of the regular wound-up and impassive Hermione, and was grateful that she took his teasing as a form of affection—which it was—instead of pretentious. Snape knew subconsciously it was the only way he felt comfortable expressing himself to her (the kiss, though? he tried not to think about _that)_ , and he appreciated when Hermione often bit back in retaliation, equally teasing and witty.

As they approached a small vacant table in a secluded corner of the pub, he habitually held her seat out for her before taking his own. He watched her in the dim light as she rearranged her silverware to her liking, placing her glass opposite of where it was and folding her napkin just so. He allowed himself a private smile, for these small quirks of hers he found endearing, though he was saddened at the same time because he knew they were obsessive effects of her anxiety riddled persona. She was particular, which he appreciated, but he would be foolish not to acknowledge the remnants of trauma. Snape knew she thrived for control over even the simplest parts of her day to day life because of the total lack of power she experienced over it in years.

"What is it?" asked Hermione curiously, a slight curve playing at the corner of her lip. Snape pulled himself from his thoughts and shook his head slightly as he drank from the glass that had magically filled once they sat. He paused for a moment.

"Today has been pleasant. Thank you for allowing me to come with you," he said. Hermione scoffed.

"You _told_ me you were coming with me, Snape."

He shrugged. "Semantics."

Hermione laughed openly at that before turning to her menu, her lips still quirked in a humored manner.

"I suppose it was a nice day, even though that man followed us," Hermione quietly said. Snape snapped his eyes to her with knitted brows and a tight jaw, mildly annoyed she didn't say anything until now; she rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair. "I knew you saw him too, so give me a break. He followed us through most of Diagon Alley, too, before going into Market Alley."

Snape rose a brow at her which earned him a sly smirk.

"Oh…you didn't notice," she replied with mock condescension as she returned to her menu. "Thank the Gods for me, then."

Snape scoffed. Although he knew she was teasing, there was truth in it: he was losing his touch. This bothered him immensely; Severus Snape didn't survive the life he led by lacking situational awareness, and he couldn't start now. Even more so, he felt the driving urge to protect Hermione; how could he possibly do that when he's become so complacent?

The small _pop_ announced the arrival of a small elf, making Hermione jump in her seat. Clad in a bonnet and apron, the elf gave the witch a sad smile and awkward curtsy.

"Sorry, missus, welcome once again," she squeaked. Her huge eyes found Severus and her ears perked. "M-master Snape, welcome! I is Milly."

Snape only nodded, glancing sideways at Hermione who seemed to have finally simmered down from the abrupt surprise. Milly the elf turned to Hermione as she slightly wrung her wrists.

"Sorry again Missus Mione. Milly forgot to err, walk instead of apparating. Milly was just very excited to see the missus after so long!"

Hermione gave her a small smile that was sadder than anything. "It's okay, Milly. It's good to see you and see you're still here. I hope they're treating you well."

The elf nodded excitedly, beaming up at her.

"Oh yes, missus. All the elves want to work here. They're very jealous of Milly," said Milly with a rather toothy grin. "Thank you for getting Milly this job, Missus."

 _No surprise there,_ thought Severus as he cast her a sly grin. Hermione caught it and gave foot a quick kick from under the table, which only added to his amusement.

"You're welcome, Milly. Um, I'll take—"

"The tomato soup and grilled cheese, missus?"  
Hermione's cheeks burned crimson and an airy laugh escaped her lips as she nodded in confirmation. Milly smiled proudly before turning to Snape with a bit more confidence.

"The same."

Milly paused her writing for a moment to glance between the motley pair before nodded before, this time, walking away from the table.

Snape turned his attention back to Hermione who he found was watching him closely with the hint of a smile playing at her pretty lips. He rose a brow at her.

"I'm trying to picture someone like you eating a grilled cheese," teased Hermione. He shrugged.

"You used to come here, I gather. But not for some time now?" He asked mildly. He didn't want to seem too curious.

"Yes, when Ron was alive," she said quietly. She noticeably flinched and cast him and apologetic frown. "I'm sorry. That's awful, isn't it?"

Severus ignored the pulls at his heartstrings and once again shrugged, determined to keep himself nonchalant. "I think you should be proud of yourself for being able to finally return to a place you clearly once loved."

Hermione considered him for a moment, looking into those dark, inky pools for any sign of deceit. She got lost in them for a minute, as if being succumbed by the powerful gravitational pull of a black hole—that is, until she hit the abrupt barriers of Severus' mental space, causing her to jump and gasp.

"I am _so sorry_ , Severus! I-I don't know how I…" Hermione trailed off and bowed her head into her hand with utter shame. Severus quickly reached over the small table with the ease and cupped her cheek with the gentle hands of an intimate lover, leaning her face upward to see him. Her brows were tightly knit and a look of self-loathing that Severus was all too familiar with shone brightly in her eyes, so much that it almost broke him.

"Hermione, it's alright. I know you didn't mean to pry. I'm not angry with you," he said softly. She tilted her head in his palm, still infuriated with herself. "What happened?"

"I just.. I don't know, I just got a little…lost, is all."

Snape didn't reply. He waited for her to continue.

"I'm just confused, I think," she admitted. Snape felt his heart sink a little and he slowly pulled his hand from her. "Sometimes when you look at me, I feel so much. I get lost in it."

Snape stiffened at her open confession, though he wasn't sure what to make of it. He couldn't tell her that she causes the same effect on him, could he? Surely, this wasn't the time. But the way she was looking at him right now, he could feel the fire ignite with him, coursing through his veins and setting him ablaze. He never felt a stronger want—a _need—_ for another person. Severus Snape realized then, just how much he would do for the girl.

"Perhaps any other man would be disturbed by being brought on a date to a place your former lover used to take you to, but luckily, I am not that man," Snape said casually as he glanced at the array of books around him. From the corner of his eye he could see Hermione's brows shoot nearly to her hairline and that lovely blush caress her face and chest.

"A _date!?_ "

Severus couldn't help the sly curve of his lip at the increasing fluster that caused Hermione to sputter aimlessly; he knew it caused her no great worry—he couldn't help himself, even if it was boyish of him. Hermione glowered at him with no malice and turned to nurse her tea.

"You're the only person I've ever brought here, prat."

Snape groaned inwardly at yet another honest admittance that caught him off guard; clearly, his light teasing had revealed innocent information that his overreactive, currently bleeding heart swelled for.

"Well, I'm honored then. Even if Mister Weasley was a complete dunderhead," he muttered without looking at her. He winced when he realized his words came out a bit harsher than intended and he braced himself for the onslaught of hexes he earned.

He was surprised when all he heard was the not so tinkling laughter of Hermione Granger but, rather, a deep bellied chortled that broke through the soft silence of the café. He watched her, stunned and admiring the way her eyes grew pinched and the way her nose scrunched in such genuine amusement.

"Ron was a complete dunderhead, wasn't he? Gods," she said through her chortle, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

 _Thank the gods…_ "A well-intended dunderhead, mind you," offered Snape. This was bizarre for him, speaking about the dead man the woman before him still loved, a dead man who was also a former thorn in his side. Still, he felt no malice; Snape knew that his green-eyed giant could be unruly, but in this moment, he had a fleeting sense of sadness.

Ronald Weasley wasn't so bad, even if he was a dunderhead—Snape was witness to that. And, deep down, he knew that the ginger haired boy would always hold a special place in Hermione's heart, and he was fine with that; what they shared shaped the woman he had grown to care for. Snape knew at his core that even if he could not make the witch happy like that one day, he would always wish someone, somewhere, could.

Hermione's laughter came to a still as she cleared her throat and straightened her back; Snape raised a questioning brow, immediately reminded of her more pretentious years at Hogwarts and the familiar look of determination on her face. He watched her play fiddle with something in her pocket and brought it to the table, her hands still covering it as she searched for the words to say.

"Anyway…next month marks the ten-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. I know it's an immensely insensitive thing, but the Ministry holds a ball of sorts to honor and praise those we've lost and those still among us," Hermione began. Her lithe fingers revealed a letter with the Ministry seal and pulled a brief yet ornately decorated invitation and RSVP card. "I've burned about six of these in the past month, and I just got three more this week alone. I haven't been to the event in years, but Kingsley thinks it's wise that I attend this year. With everything that's going on, that is."

"He is right, I suppose. Surely no one would think to attack such a public and heavily guarded event such as this," grumbled Snape, the sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"I have my concerns as well," she said. Hermione paused for a moment, strumming her manicured nails atop the blank invitation. "I was wondering—"

 _Pop!_

A different elf donning the same uniform as Milly suddenly appeared beside them with their plates of steaming food; Hermione, clearly worked up already, visibly jolted in her seat once more and she stowed away her half-drawn wand. The elf smiled nervously between the two before settling the plates down, but when he opened his mouth to speak, a perturbed Milly appeared from another isle of guests.

" _Milly said not to_ pop! _"_ Milly quickly cupped the newbie's floppy ears as she scolded him in hushed whispers before they disappeared around the bend once more.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" asked Snape, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice. She offered him a small smile and nodded. "What were you wondering?"

"Hmm?"

"Before the elf came, you were saying something," said Severus as he absently inspected his sandwich with a mild scowl on his face.

"Oh," said Hermione. "Right. Well… as I said, I know it's an insensitive, inappropriate political stunt, but I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?"  
Snape simply blinked at her in response, which only made Hermione shift a little uncomfortably in her chair and her chin raise to assert such confidence she required in the moment, that she was definitely did _not_ have.

"I would be honored to go with you, Hermione," said Snape evenly. A mild fluttering stirred in his chest at the thought of both of escorting her _and_ having to attend such a wretched event. He hated the Ministry— _hell,_ he disliked most people—and having a target on his back yet again does not make the idea of prancing about a ball any more attractive.

However, once Severus saw the lively look in Hermione's eyes when he agreed, he knew he was a goner; he saw excitement dancing in the pools of hickory, mixed with relief and even nervousness—which also was expressed through the relentless abuse she caused her bottom lip—and he knew he gave the right answer.

"Really? Thank Circe! I mean," stammered Hermione as she took a quick sip of tea to gather her thoughts. She frowned slightly. "I don't want you to feel obligated to. The Final Battle was a traumatic experience for people…for you."

"I died, Hermione," he said with a sigh. Snape waved his hands at his tall form. "Yet, I am alive now. It was traumatic, yes, but I'm alive. There are people who weren't as lucky as I was."

Hermione frowned as her eyes bore into his and Snape could almost see the catalogue of faces flashing in the girl's mind's eye.

"Besides, a Slytherin repays his debts. Consider us even now, because you should know that going to this ball may very well kill me again," he said with a smirk. _Figuratively or literally, who bloody knows anymore…_

Hermione rolled her mirth filled eyes. "It's a _date_ then."

 **A/N: Phew! My chapters are getting longer. The next few are super long too. I'm still heavy in moving back to the US which may put a damper in my updates. But hopefully once I'm back in two weeks and not job hunting I can be more diligent on this. Also, we are 20 chapters in? Holy crap.**


	21. White-Winged Dove

White-Winged Dove

Severus was thrilled when he found out Hermione had rejected Benjamin Yew's request to escort her to the ball that was only a few days away—not once, but several times. His amusement deepened when he played witness to her slamming the door in his face one evening. He didn't dare tease her that night because he could tell from the way her magic crackled through her hair and frizzed it, crossing her would have surely ended poorly for him. She was in a foul mood throughout the week and Severus wondered if maybe she was experiencing some sort of magical withdrawal from complete disuse of the Hallow.

"Have you been feeling alright, Hermione?" Severus asked as they read silently beside each other in the library. He lowered his book to rest atop the orange cat who was snoring on his lap; Snape long surrendered to the battle that was Crookshanks the half-Kneazle.

"I'm fine I've just been feeling…off," replied Hermione, not tearing her eyes from a book Snape knew she read at least four times already. "I've been having terrible headaches and my appetite has been all over. Awful nightmares."

"Are they of Ron?" He asked softly, trying to catch her eye. She glanced at him.

"That they are. How did you guess that?" asked Hermione curiously. She finally put down her book to turn to him. He shrugged a shoulder.

"I'd imagine after using the stone for so long, an abrupt stop to it would have some sort of psychological and physical effect. A withdrawal. It's most likely stronger than any drug."

Hermione frowned as the gears in her mind turned. "I suppose that does make sense. It was…addictive." She paused. "What did you and Harry do with it?"

"Ah, ah, ah, that's for us to know and you to never find out."

"Prat."

"I'm fine with that."

He felt unusually anxious as he clasped his new cuff links in place and examined himself in the oversized mirror on the chamber wall; the sleek black pant suit he donned fit like a glove and if one looked closely, they could see the swirling intricacy of a subtle floral design. He nearly tossed the garment back at Draco when they were in the robes shop and it took much convincing on the blonde's behalf to even try it on. It was a very "Lucius" get-up, and he was pretty sure that Draco was projecting his recent losses onto him, so he guiltily brought it with him for a fitting.

Snape's hair was neatly pulled back with a gold cord, a minor detail that matched his cuffs and shoe buckles, and he made note to ask Hermione to trim his hair next week. Eating well and being relatively—dare we say— _happy_ made Severus overall healthier; the man reflected before him was fuller than before and his skin wasn't as sallow or stretched over his bones. He even ached a little less. With a final glance over, he swept up his billowing cloak, clamping it over, and was about to depart for Hermione before he heard his floo network flare to life.

"Snape?" came Harry's voice.

"I'm here."

"Hermione is going to meet us there. I'm afraid she's in my wife's clutches right now. I'll meet you at the venue in ten." Snape smirked to himself as the boy disconnected, thinking about how utterly petrified his date must be at the mercy of the red head; she was every bit of Molly and, for a moment, Snape pitied Hermione dealing with them both.

As he departed down the corridor, he shot a quick slicking spell to Hermione's hall opposite of him as he heard the untamable yowl of Crookshanks echo from the darkness. The cat suddenly darted towards him but was not prepared for the enchanted floor and slid the entirety of it, passing Snape, and allowing the well dress man to descend the staircase hair free. He nearly cursed the feline when he found him nosily inquiring his garments when he returned home from the shop. Exiting the estate, Snape cast a few precautionary charms over the property before disapparating into the early evening.

Snape found himself standing before the tall marble columns of the venue site which was only a few blocks away from the Ministry in a ritzy part of London. There was a small gathering of witches and wizards in horribly gaudy robes gawking at him from the courtyard, to which he responded with an unpleasant sneer before disappearing behind a pillar. He glanced down at his pocket watch, growing slightly unnerved as he waited for some kind of company. Just in time, there were several small _pops_ a few meters away where he hid and the rambunctious chortle that was the Weasley tribe echoed behind him.

"Oy! Snape!"

"Where do you see him, George?"

"I think it's him, right behind the pillar. I guess? He looks too well dressed to be—"

" _George!"_

"Severus, is that you?" came the foghorn whisper of Arthur Weasley. Inwardly groaning, Snape stepped out from his hidden place and fought a sneer at the perplexed expressions on their faces. Harry was the first to step forward and extended his hand.

"You look good, Snape. I was worried you weren't going to show," said Potter. They shook and the younger man laughed nervously. "Hermione would probably kill you if you did."

"I don't argue that."

The entire Weasley family, plus Harry and except Ginny and Hermione, were chattering animatedly, half blocking the entrance into the grand building. The few minutes they stayed loitering felt like ages, and Snape was sure he was going to turn tail and leave at any given moment. Things were too loud, too excited, and too crowded for his liking, and he mentally begged Hermione to appear sooner than later.

"Ah, there they are," said George as he curved his head around his daughter's form in his arms. He let out a low whistle—as did his wife—and the whole family softened into mutters.

Snape stilled at the sight of her as she rounded the corner with Ginny Weasley, and he felt the jolting skip of his heart beat, his breath caught in his throat. Hermione's curls were drawn back in a loose chignon, a few strays framing her heart shaped face and smokey eyes. Her dress was as dark as night, molding to every curve and dip of her body before flaring to a delicate mermaid bottom; sheer designs were cut out in the material at her hips and arms, and the bateau neckline was trimmed with small jewels.

She was enthralling, to say the least, and a little wicked if Severus were to admit. He felt an instant frustration in his groin that only worsened when she offered him a lazy, ruby lipped smile.

"Snape," she drawled, popping her lips.

"Miss Granger," he said. His voice was deep and even as he offered his arm to her, which she accepted. Their eyes were fixated on the other, lost to everyone but themselves, so much that Ginny had to clear her throat to pull them to reality.

"Well, I sure remember when someone use to look at _me_ like _that_ ," she teased with a large grin on her face. Her husband elbowed her in the side, causing her to giggle. She offered her old potions master a wink before waddling towards the reception with the rest of her family.

"Did you _see them_!" they could hear Harry whine slightly to his fiery wife. Snape rolled his eyes as he guided his date ( _Bloody hell, date?!)_ to follow the rest.

When they entered the venue, they were met by an array of multicolored flowers entwined around high columns and arching between them, a light aroma welcoming them. The hall was oval shaped with burgundy covered tables curving around the ballroom floor and ending at a raised podium; off center from it, closer to the dance floor, was an enchanted orchestra and grand piano playing a soft melody, completely unmanned. It was beautiful, no doubt, but still felt entirely wrong given the anniversary.

In the distance, Hermione could see Luna Lovegood conversing with Neville and his date Hannah, both of whom looked only half interested in her words as the airy blond waved a hand at the flowers above. Hermione laughed to herself as she imagined what otherworldly creature Luna could be telling them about.

"Find something amusing, Miss Granger?" came the low drawl of Severus Snape.

"Oh, nothing."

Severus led her to the table where the Potters and Weasley's sat which wasn't very far from the platform and offered her a chair with a slight bow of his head. She glanced at him and had to admit the man cleaned up nicely despite the coercion she implemented to get him there in the first place. Hermione studied his features for a moment and was mildly jealous of how he seemed so comfortable at his first social event in almost a decade—although she didn't know how much of that comfort relied on her company. He raised an elegant brow at her- a wordless " _what"-_ but she offered him just a smile. He said nothing but brushed a wild curl behind her ear with lithe fingers.

Ginny caught her eye at that moment and wore a genuinely surprised expression that quickly softened when Hermione frowned at her. Even in the dim light she could see the younger woman's eyes glisten as she squeezed Harry's hand slightly. He was busy passionately talking to Neville and the girls who had joined them to pay any real mind. Ginny nodded at Hermione, giving her a small, knowing smile that made her heart thump.

Although the wordless exchange was subtle, Hermione knew how meaningful it actually was. It was a solitary act of their friendship and sisterhood; it was Ginny blessing her for her future endeavors.

And it terrified Hermione.

With no intention to dwell, Hermione averted her eyes around the venue, nodding politely at acquaintances who recognized her from prior banquets and staring boldly at those who she knew were no fans. She caught sight of an utterly tacky green dress that was worn by none other than Rita Skeeter and her lip curled in disgust; an involuntary grumble escaped her as she watched the hyena-like woman saunter around the Remembrance Altar.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" came Snape's soothing voice and breath against her ear. When she turned, she realized he moved closer to her and their faces almost touched. "You are nearly breaking skin."

He gestured to her tightly clenched hands and her nails digging in, leaving crescent shaped imprints on her knuckles. She stopped immediately and waved her hand nonchalantly.

"I'm fine," she said, a little too quickly. He shot her a disapproving look and she sighed. "Rita Skeeter is here. I don't know why I'm surprised though, she's here every year."  
"One would think she would be fired already given her tactless and distasteful history in journalism," he commented, earning himself a grin from the girl.

It became a full house and what once was a low murmur of guests quickly turned to boisterous chatter until the candles dimmed and a spotlight appeared at the podium. Kingsley Shacklebolt ascended, dressed in amethyst colored robes, and cleared his throat.

"Today marks ten years that the wizarding world has been free from Voldemort's tyranny—but it is also ten years since we have been without some of the greatest witches and wizards of our time. We are not free of the pain and loss inflicted upon our families. But through the pain, there is light. There will always be light. This year will be the last Victory Banquet the Ministry of Magic will host, and I implore you to reflect on the errors and crimes inflicted by wizardkind, but, most of all, I implore you to be _brave._ Be brave enough to stand up to injustices and prejudices you see day to day still; be brave to commit to what you believe in; be brave to live the life your loved one's would have wanted you to."

It was the briefest speech Kingsley had ever given at a Victory Banquet but it commanded so much respect; the audience of hundreds exploded into claps, and his words weighed heavy on their minds. The Potter and Weasley tables were a little less jubilant and it was evident in their eyes that their pasts began haunting them with heartbreak. Hermione and Severus exchanged looks, and he was surprised when her hand found his under the table. Such small and soft hands laid atop his, slightly trembling until he brought his other upon it; it was a simple gesture. It was a sign of unity.

As dinner was being prepared, the enchanted orchestra began its fanfare while the chatter immediately commenced. Hermione stood suddenly and lightly tugged Snape's hand, ushering him with her.

"Come," was all she said. He obeyed and followed her towards the podium, then veered for the Remembrance Altar.

Upon the altar were enchanted pictures of dozens of people, surrounded by countless vases of flowers and offered galleons here and there. There was a photo of Remus and Tonks on their informal wedding day, her hair quickly changing from pink to red and back out of clear excitement; Sirius Black was in the frame beside them, though much younger and tattoo-less, and offered a wink up at them. Snape recognized more than half of the photos laid on the table, for they were mostly former students of his, ripped from their prime by a war not meant for them. He tore his eyes from the uncanny photo of Albus Dumbledore wearing an atrocious hat, when Hermione spoke.

"Harry wanted to include them, and of course no one would deny him that," said Hermione as her fingers fell on a oval frame. Snape peered from behind and froze.

Staring up at him were newlywed James and Lily Potter, small eyed from laughter, with baby Harry gaggling in their arms. Snape didn't speak for a long moment as he brought the frame up to look closer; he ran a gentle fingers over the glass and watched the image start over time and time again. He never saw this photo of them— _Gods,_ Lily looked so happy; they both did. Snape caught the young witch's eye from over the frame and she graced him with a genuine smile that softened this moment further for him.

"I figured you would like that," said Hermione as she peered over. "They look so happy, and Harry was so small. I wish I could have met them…I wish they were still here, for Harry."

"As do I. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about the mistakes I've made," said Snape. He placed the frame back atop the altar. "Or the repercussions."

They were quiet for a moment, their eyes gazing over the emotional display before them and unaware of the growing line behind them of partygoers wishing to pay their respects.

"I want to be a better man," Snape suddenly admitted. He turned to the woman beside him, whose formerly cold eyes have been nothing short of warm towards him for so long now, and softly touched her perfect cheeks. Her lips parted and that blush he loved glowed across her chest; her eyes glanced around quickly, feeling a little self conscious about the sudden display of affection. "I never want that path for myself again. I never want to be the cause of so much suffering, ever again. I robbed so many people of their future."

"I'd say you're on a pretty decent path, even though you still are so surly," said Hermione with an airy laugh.

"I can't promise _that_ will change," he said with a smirk, allowing his hand to fall finally. He ignored the curious looks and muttering from behind him as they made their way to their seats again, still admiring the woman before him. In the short time they've lived together, he has watched her rise and fall with both the grace and insanity of a wayward goddess, emerging from the ashes like a rogue Phoenix. She had tested every nerve and made him question every fiber of his existence. And throughout all of the turbulence, Hermione had been the one constant: from taking the Unbreakable Vow for him to her unyielding support at the Wizengamot, and he found himself completely undeserving. "I honestly cannot begin to thank you enough, Miss Granger."

Hermione let out contagious laughter. "'Miss Granger?'; such formalities again, Severus."

" _Hermione,"_ he corrected, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. She shot him a smirk. "I was saying—"

"Miney! Miney!" came the shrill voice of tiny Master Malfoy as he bound between his cousins Victoire and Teddy towards Hermione. He came to a quick halt when he saw Snape brooding over his favorite Auntie. Linking his small, chubby arms behind his back and glancing up at the two from under his brow, Scorpius sniffled. "Hullo, Unca' Snape."

Hermione's brows shot so high and she broke into a hiss of laughter at the sight of Snape's mortified face. Scorpius perked up, eyes darting between the two, and began giggling himself as he fed off Hermione. He came close and wiggled his fingers up at the young witch.

"Miney, dance with me!" Scorpius demanded, jumping slightly. Hermione dipped and scooped up the boy and cast Snape a devious look before carrying her dance partner to the floor. Draco appeared from the other side with a glass of whatever, and sulked beside Snape.

"I'm convinced my son loves Hermione more than he loves his own mother," said Draco with a grin. They watched on as the other children joined Hermione, getting spun around and giggling along the way. Hermione's face was positively beaming as she entertained the small humans, even when Scorpius pouted from lack of attention.

"Where is Astoria?"

"Sick at home. She says hello." Draco examined his former professor closely for a moment. "You seem…different, Snape. There's this—" Draco wagged his fingers at him with a mock scowl, —" _glow_ about you. It's pretty unusual."

"You are insufferable, Draco," sneered Snape, crossing his arms. His eyes followed Hermione everywhere she went on the ballroom floor.

"No, _she_ is insufferable," retorted Draco, scoffing. "She made me come. I mean, she even had Astoria on her side. She said 'it'd be good for Snape' and…"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Snape again.

"Well, fuck, I guess _she_ is the reason you're—"

"If you say the word glow one more time, Draco, you won't be able to say _any_ words ever again," warned Snape. Draco snorted with a shake of his head, glancing over at the floor as Scorpius began having one of his notorious meltdowns. Hermione quickly stopped her lap around with Kingsley and ushered the young Malfoy through the growing crowd of dancers towards his father. Draco's expression softened.

"I guess I can understand why," he murmured, swallowing the rest of his drink before scooping his son up. Hermione gave Draco a quick peck on the cheek and rubbed the toddler's chin; Malfoy Sr tossed his head back at the dark man. "Take him with you, would you? He's scaring the other guests standing there like that."

Draco was gone before Snape could retaliate but not before spinning around to look at him from the distance, wagging his brows suggestively as he sat to greet the Potter-Weasleys. Severus looked at Hermione, considering her for a moment, before granting her a respectable bow.

"It would honor me to have this dance, Miss Granger, if you'd allow me," he said silkily. Hermione's eyes lit with mirth as she curtsied in return, shooting him a challenging look through her thick lashes that stirred something hot within the dark man. She laid a well manicured hand into his own and allowed Snape to guide her; his hands rested carefully on her lower back and waited a beat before leading her perfectly. Hermione felt like she was gliding—he was a _perfect_ dancer, and the question lit in her eyes before her lips caught it.

"Well, I _was_ friends with Lucius Malfoy," explained Severus before she spoke.

"You never cease to surprise me, Master Snape," purred Hermione. Snape raised a brow and made a face of approval.

"You flatter me," he said. His eyes casually bounced around, and he pulled her closer, dipping his head to her ear. "We have stirred quite the audience."

"I know, I've been trying to ignore them," said Hermione through smiling teeth. A flash of a few cameras lit beside her, and she just knew Rita Skeeter was one of them. She inwardly groaned at the thought of what would be on the front page of the prophet tomorrow. The song switched to something slower and Snape followed suit; they were quiet for a while, but it was comfortable. Snape knew there was so much to say, and he was sure the young witch had felt the same. He had caught her countless times staring at him from behind her coffee mug or daily book, words tickling her tongue but not enough to break her silence.

"So, I have a confession to make," said Hermione as she chewed her bottom lip. Snape raised a brow, only half listening as his eyes caught the extra Auror security that developed around the entrances. In the distance he could see the well-tailored Benjamin Yew seemingly ream into a few new additions to the force. "I may have led you here under false pretenses."

Not surprising. "Oh? Was it to avoid the harassment of that American? Because, you know, he is rather resilient."

"Well, _that_ was a perk, but I was wondering…"

The tune changed again, and it was unusual; the string instruments were grimy and coarse, the flat melody echoing out like a tale of struggle. Snape glanced down and frowned at Hermione when her words fell off but felt an immediate sense of anxiety when her face reflected little emotion.

"Hermione?"

She stopped dancing then, causing Snape to stagger a bit and nearly knocking the other dancers from their depressing rhythm. Hermione untangled her hands from his, drifting a little as if unsure, before walking toward the enchanted orchestra. Severus was so caught off guard all he could do was watch her go while hesitantly following behind. Hermione drew close to the piano that rung out the haunting yet familiar tune. Where could have Snape possibly heard this from? It was right there, in his mind's eye, and he flashed through his mental catalogue in desperation.

It then struck him, and he felt all the air suck out from his lungs in a way similar to Nagini's vicious attack. His mind's eye abruptly stopped at the memory Hermione allowed him to see in the Pensive—the memory from her nights in captivity.

Snape whipped out his wand and barreled through the crowd of dancers, stirring them into a frenzy. He caught sight of Hermione right before the grand piano.

" _Hermione!"_

His voice was frantic and called the attention of all the partygoers, but he was too late. Hermione turned to him slightly, her face impassive and eyes vacant of someone cursed, and touched a single key. The piano and Hermione blurred and spun as one, a homunculi of object and human, before disappearing from the orchestra and leaving no trace of their existence behind.

 **A/N: I felt too excited to leave the last chapter as a single update, so I figured I could surprise you guys with this twist! I had this chapter ironed out since I first started writing. It's just something I needed to have in the story. The next few chapters will be lengthy, heavy, and full of question. Thanks for all the love!**


	22. Fortress of Solitude

Fortress of Solitude

The ballroom erupted with shrieks and stampedes of attendants rushing away from the site of Hermione Granger's disappearance, not a single wand in sight until the Potter-Weasley clan rushed to Snape along with Ministry Aurors in tow. Snape couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, and the deafening uproar of the crowd ground against his ear drums. He was just holding her!

"What just happened?!", gasped Arthur as he grasped the younger man by his shoulders. Snape didn't tear his eyes from he spot he last saw Hermione. Harry ran forward and began casting charms over the orchestra, revealing the magical footprint of the grand piano and his friend with a low glow.

"A _portkey!",_ shouted Harry. His head snap back and forth hopelessly before he crouched low on his haunches and grasped at his neatly coifed hair. Ginny came beside him and muttered something, causing him to jump up and storm forward. Severus was sure he was making a beeline for him, the young man's eyes brewing with the familiar storm who was Harry Potter, but was surprised when he went around him and grabbed Benjamin Yew roughly by the lapel. "How the _hell_ did this get past security, Yew? You had one job!"

Surprisingly, Benjamin snapped back and drew dangerously close to Harry, his finger in his face and voice threatening low.

"I did my job, Potter. The doors were secure, the grounds and floo networks secure!" spat Yew. He threw his hands at the now still orchestra. "That's all been there for days."

"And you should have checked it _days ago!"_ sneered Severus, cutting across the two young men and towering over them like a demonic gargoyle. "People want us dead. People want _Hermione_ dead, and if you paid as much attention to your duties as you do to chasing her, the girl would be not be missing, you incredibly inadequate, useless, boy!"

Yew's eyes darkened and face contorted in such a contrasting way to his usual carefree air. He seemed like a different person in those brief moments, crazed even, but as soon as it came, it left and Benjamin was collected once more.

"Cast more charms and try to figure out the origin or destination of the portkey. No doubt it's illegal," he said through tight lips before he gathered his team to initiate a search party. He was gone with the wind, but not without casting Harry and Snape a cold glare.

"Where do we even start?", came Ginny's quiet voice. She looked on the verge of tears once more.

Snape looked to Harry who shook his head, then ushered the boy away from the growing crowd.

"The song. It was in a memory Hermione showed me from her kidnapping," muttered Snape as he kept a vigilant eye around his surrounding. He felt as though he was going to jump out of his skin, anxiety and worry running over his body like a million ants on parade. Harry gaped at him.

 _"She showed you her memories from that?_ Bloody hell, Snape," whispered Harry rather disbelieving. "She must really trust you."

Severus only continued. "It was like she was in a sort of trance. Like a person being drawn in by the siren's song of death. Whoever has her now, had her then, and made a distinct decision to use that awful song played in that home to support whatever twisted plan they have."

"A psychopath," commented Harry, messing up his hair. Snape nodded.

"A cunning and resourceful one, at that. We need a search party."

The night quickly became morning as teams of Aurors and civilians trekked through the towns, some still clad in their banquet wear. The _Prophet_ quickly supplied a photo of Hermione from the event to be used for flyers, "Missing Witch" printed in bright red above every image. Harry and Snape questioned every person they came across with no success, although they really didn't think they would be—it was such a clean and well organized kidnapping, Snape was sure they would have no leads. Minerva floo'd the Potter home when she got word from the elves that Hermione was taken, and she came through right away.

" _Again?",_ quipped McGonagall as she wrung her wrinkled hands together. She was still in her night gown, a slick plait hanging over her shoulder and exhaustion evident in her eyes. She rubbed her temple and huffed. "I do not know how much more my old heart can take. Someone out there has it out for Hermione."

"Most likely because she is protecting me," Snape said quietly. He sat slumped in a chair, his once neatly pulled hair now loose and in need of a wash and robes in disarray. He didn't look up when he spoke; he couldn't bear to look into their eyes.

McGonagall frowned, stepping closer and watching the emotional turmoil wash over her former colleague in an unusual way. "Perhaps that has added to it now, but someone has wanted Hermione for a long time. You weren't in the picture when she was taken years ago. No one was even sure you were still alive."

"Someone wants you _both,"_ said Harry. "But I'm not sure about their intent, or who their main target is. All I know is that someone those years ago kept Hermione hostage with plans. Like she was a puzzle piece they needed and didn't have time to implement it."

"Hermione has built a lot of rapport with the elves. If I ask them to talk to the house-elves, I'm sure they can keep an ear out for anything," offered Minerva. There was a storm brewing under her heaving chest, and she was thin lipped.

"Tell them to talk to an elf named Milly in Diagon Alley. Hermione helped the elf get a job there," said Snape. Minerva nodded and wordlessly departed through the floo only to be replaced by Draco, who was breathless. He, too, was disheveled, having quickly brought his son home and return to the town to assist Harry and the others.

"Malfoy? What're you—"

"We have to go to Azkaban," he breathed.

Harry and Snape exchanged looks of confusion which caused the blond to huff impatiently, tossing his hand out and revealing tattered parchment.

"These are letters from my father. In these letters, whenever he spoke about bad things happening, he also spoke about the inmate in the cell next to him. So, I wonder if maybe that person knows something. It's just too good of timing that my father was killed right before shit hit the fan."

Severus seized the letters from the young man and quickly scanned its contents. "Lucius says the man is blind but doesn't know his name."

"How many blind codgers do you think are in Azkaban?" asked Draco, rubbing the stubble on his face.

"There's only one way to find out."

 _Azkaban Prison_

It didn't take very long for Harry to gain approval to enter Azkaban with a visitor; it was a perk for being close to the Minister for Magic. Harry convinced Draco to stay behind in case something happened, which the still bratty man was not pleased about. He cared about the muggleborn witch as much as the next person. Still, he obeyed, and provided the auror with the letters as proof. Once Harry had all the required paperwork giving them permissions, he led the way to a private apparition point that was regulated strictly between Azkaban and the chamber within the Ministry. When they landed safely on a cliff surrounding the formidable prison, Harry turned and pointed his wand to his former professor.

"I'm going to glamor you. I don't know how the people in there would react if they saw Severus Snape as a freed man."

He had a point.

Severus nodded and allowed himself to be turned into the hunchbacked, wizened man again and adjusted his new glasses over his beak-like nose. Harry's face scrunched up at the sight before him, but thought better than to comment on it.

"We should go. The aurors are tracking that I have a guest, and they know you'll be glamored. The charm wont dissolve when you pass through the barrier," explained Harry.

Severus gazed up at the threatening tower erected from the sea, as dark and ominous as the turbulent waves that crashed against its banks. He had never been here before, and he had to admit it was an intimidating part of magical Britain. The Dementors were long gone, he once heard and now saw, so he could only imagine just how menacing the prison once was. For a moment, he reflected, thinking about how easy it would have been to be sentenced to live out his days in this hellhole; he was grateful to Potter and the others for advocating for him.

They made haste crossing the narrow bridge to the prison's entrance which slid up with a low rumble. Four aurors Snape did not recognize greeted them at a small makeshift table, and they looked uneasily between him and Harry. One stepped forward and collected Harry's clearance paperwork, muttering a quick 'sorry about Granger', and just as quickly returned it to them.

"Former inmate LM19530909 was held on the thirteenth floor, room six sixty-eight," the guard said, looking up as if through the ceiling. Harry nodded and urged Snape to follow him through a hallway; as the light began to glow from the other side, the building roar of crazed inmates met their ears. They found themselves in the main atrium of the prison, surrounded by inmates shouting through their cell windows that lined the triangular shaped interior by the dozens. Their defiance was unfiltered and filthy as they screamed profanities and spat through their view.

"Potter!"

" _Harrryyyy Pottterrrr…"_

"I'LL KILL YA."

The prisoners sang Harry's name in haunting unison, rattling their doors. His face revealed no sign of weakness as Snape observed him, and Harry led them up the many floors to where Lucius Malfoy lived and took his final breath.

Once their trek was over, through all the spit and profanities flung at them, they found themselves in a very narrow corner of the thirteenth floor, which was a bit quieter than the rest, thankfully. With a quick flick of his wand, Harry closed the viewing windows shut, earning himself disgruntled shouts from behind the cell doors. As they approached, Malfoy's old cell door was laying ajar, and the absolute filth and smell that came out of it was repugnant and accosted their nostrils violently. Harry coughed and nearly gagged.

"It was a few days before they found'em dead in there," came a raspy voice from the cell beside. Harry cast a silent _muffliato_ to protect the potential informant and glanced down at the paperwork in his hand.

"Er, inmate—"

"I know what you're here for," he rasped again, and suddenly decrepit eyes inflicted with cataracts popped into the view window. From what Snape saw, he could not recognize the man at all.

"What do you know about Lucius Malfoy's death, and the disappearance of Hermione Granger?" drawled Snape.

"Ohh… Severus Snape, is that you under all that?" the man wheezed, a cracked chuckle escaping his dry lips.

"You know me?" asked Snape, coming closer. He still didn't recognize him.

"I know of you, as does everyone else," he replied. He then tapped his head knowingly. "I lost one sight and gained another."

"Great, a loony," muttered Harry, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes in annoyance as he read through the man's file. The inmate only chuckled again. "'Larceny and illegal distribution of dragon eggs'—how long were you in business?"

"Forty-two years. Locked up for twenty now," he grumbled. Harry looked thoughtful for a moment.

"And why would a petty thief and smuggler have any information I would need?" asked Harry, his tone borderline pompous and disinterested. Snape raised a brow, surprised at the young man's attitude, and slightly perturbed at its similarity to another Potter he knew.

"Coz that's all I am, a thief and a smuggler. I ain't got no dark history other than making a few Mama Dragons pissed off, and I hear _everything_ in these walls," said the thief rather smugly. Harry and Snape exchanged looks.

"Alright then, what do you want?" Snape asked. The man shook his head, his eyelids barely closing over his protruding eyeballs when he blinked. Snape found it repulsive.

"Nothin. I'm sick, I'm dyin', ain't nothing left for me. But I've witnessed the Granger girl in here a lot of times. She was always talking to Malfoy, always trying to get him to cooperate. I know she smuggled in some pictures of his kid and grandkid, coz at night I'd hear him cry all night," he explained. The image it caused made Severus uncomfortable. Seeing and hearing about an old friend falling from grace was a bit unnerving. "A nice girl she was, she was trying to get the poor bloke's sentence shortened."

Still leaning against the wall and out of view, Harry's eyes snapped to Snape's and his brows came together. He silently mouthed ' _I didn't know that'_ to the former professor.

"Guess you didn't know all that, huh," said the man. Harry closed his mouth. "You see, I ain't the only one who knew when she was here. She caught lots of attention, for better or for worst. A man used to visit him and didn't say much—at first— but Malfoy finally sang like a canary. He told him _all_ about 'the mudblood'. He told him where she worked, that she was to marry a Weasley—that she was _pregnant_."

Snape's blood ran cold and he could see Harry shift beside him with clenched fists. He knew Lucius would never become a fully changed man, but he didn't expect him to be so loose lipped. Lucius Malfoy was a coward, but only when being brave risked his family's safety.

"He cried every time the man came to see him. Sometimes the man tortured him, coz his screams were horrible. He used all types of curses I never heard before," continued the man, mumbling slightly as if the memory haunted him. "He asked about Malfoy's son, too, about there wasn't much to go on. He rarely wrote the poor bloke back."

Harry frowned. "There's no way the guards wouldn't have heard any of that."

The inmate shrugged and shoved some kind of disgusting gruel into his mouth before speaking again.

"There's no more Death Eaters in here, but that don't mean there ain't bad people in here, or people who supported You-Know-Who," the man said slowly. He looked wary for a moment, shifting from foot to foot and a nervous tick running through his nose.

"What are you getting at?" asked Harry, coming off the wall and peering at the old man.

"All's I'm saying is that Azkaban is a bad place."

"You're not making any sense!" snapped Harry, clearly exasperated. Snape held a hand up to silence him.

"Mister…?"

"Mister'?" The inmate released a deep bellied laugh. "Well, damn, just call me Gus."

"Gus," confirmed Snape. "Are you suggesting that…someone, like an auror or other department official killed Malfoy?"

The inmate named Gus cackled again, broken up by phlegm that dislodged from within his lungs. "Well, no guards came when the man did what he did. He thought I was _deaf_ , not blind! When he cast that silencing charm down here and skipped my cell, I heard _everything_ he said. And everything he _did!"_

"Who did you hear?", asked Snape as he tried his best to stay patient with the senile old coot.

"Can't really say, for sure. All's I know is that the man who use to visit Malfoy and the man I heard when he was killed, was the same person, and didn't sound like anyone from here. Sounded like that old fella who sang and danced on the Muggle telly when I was little, they called him the 'King'. King of what? I dunno."

Harry snapped forward again, hanging on the man's words.

"Did he sound American?"

Gus scoffed. "I guess that's what you'd call it. He thanked Malfoy for the information before he killed em."

Snape and Harry exchanged heated looks and didn't speak when they left the old inmate to his own musings and darted down the hall to make their descent. Snape felt the blood pumping violently in his veins and was so distracted by the assaulting image of a despicable man in his mind's eye he didn't realize his glamor was wearing off; they were three floors, now, from the exit when the outraged roars echoed through the tower, calling for Snape and taunting him with dark promises. They did not stop when the guards questioned their haste and they quickly made way to apparate.

"You were right! You were right the entire damn time. Benjamin—"

"Killed Lucius," said Snape in a deadly and quiet tone. "If he had anything to do with Hermione, I will kill him."

 **A/N: I know its been a few weeks since my last update. Sorry about that! We just finished settling back stateside and we've been trying to adjust since departing military life. I hope everyone had a stress-free and easy holiday. Cheers to the New Year! Thanks to all my readers, especially those who review.**


	23. Benjamin Yew

Benjamin Yew

Hermione knew she was looking around but couldn't quite register what she was seeing; she knew she listened but couldn't remember what she heard. She felt like she was watching herself in a dream—a nightmare—and the more she tried to dissect what she saw, the more she forgot. Wherever she was, she felt hot. Well, not unbearably so, but humid and damp; her surroundings smelled like wetness and salt, and she though she heard the patter of rain drops, but she was dry.

Someone touched her; they caressed her face with rough hands and muttered things she didn't understand. She let out a muffled groan of defiance, the best she could muster with the numbing feeling that lagged her motor skills and mind. She huffed and groggily pulled her head away from the unwanted touch and yelped receptively when a hand struck her cheek. Her head bounced back and hit something hard that stirred a bit more awareness within the young witch, causing her to adrenaline to kick in and dissolve the fuzzy haze around her mind and magic; thrashing her body and tightening her muscles, she felt the restraints keeping her in place, no sign of budging. Panic slowly began trickling it, and it was eating her alive.

 _I'm drugged,_ she thought, bobbing her head back and forth, unable to focus on her dim surroundings. The figure that she assumed struck her stood before her, hazy and swirling with the shadows of her prison. It was unworldly, the hallucinogenic effects she was feeling; one shadow blurred into the next, creating fluidly moving creatures that danced over her. Every few beats, rhythmically so, Hermione could feel the inhale and exhale of displaced air somewhere close, a whooshing sound and scrap of metal echoing throughout her personal hell.

Before her senses began clearing again, her captor grabbed her face and forces her mouth open roughly. Hermione had no such strength to deny him access and could barely shout to defy him; she suddenly felt cool liquid pool in her mouth, a strong metallic flavor following, and before she could spit it out, the being pinched her nostrils tightly. Either choking to death or suffocating, Hermione finally swallowed the liquid with a cry.

"B-bastard," was all she could mutter, but rage and hatred dripped off the word like blood off a blade. Hermione could hear the laughter—it was familiar—before the sounds and images before her blurred into one, into colors even, and she blacked out.

. . . . . . . . . .

Snape felt the most destructive rage ever course through his very soul. He wanted to smash things, to hex the balls off the young man who kept him captive at Grimmauld Place. Logically, he understood why they were waiting, but emotionally he was ready to tear Benjamin Yew limb from limb.

Molly Weasley paced around the kitchen cleaning anything she could, quietly crying to herself as Ginny tried to ease her. The crowd was small—only the original members stood around, and they were ready for any word from Harry to initiate their plans. Snape sat like a stone gargoyle away from the Order and looked on, but his mind was swirling around every imaginative way to rid the world of Benjamin Yew. Although the blind man in Azkaban lacked substantial information on Hermione, Severus knew deep in his bones that the American has every bit to do with her disappearance. It all made sense…to him at least.

"Yew has to be arrested," said Neville, as he sat unusually close to Snape. The boy was different, he noticed, not as unsure or peaky as he once was. Snape figured standing up to the Dark Lord and killing a horcrux-snake might do that to someone. "Even if he doesn't have anything to do with Hermione, he still killed Malfoy's Dad."

"I know, but I need Kingsley here to sign off on it. I can't afford a flight risk," said Harry as he paced impatiently. His eyes glanced up at the clock, and it was clear to all he was perturbed at the Minister's tardiness. Just as he spoke, the charms vibrated throughout the home and purple robes billowed in.

"You have information," state Kingsley. He glanced around and nodded to everyone. "Hermione?"

"Not exactly. Malfoy came to us after the search party and thought a man next to his father's cell might know something about Hermione. So, we went to Azkaban, and the inmate said a man use to visit Malfoy—use to torture him—and got a lot of information from him. Information aboutHermione. I requested the visitors log and there is no one other than Hermione's signature on it for the last four years. The same man killed him in his cell. He said the man sounded American."

"Well, he didn't say that exactly," sighed Snape, rising to his feet. "He said he sounded like someone from muggle television. A musician that both Potter and I recognized. It made sense."

Kingsley looked between them for a moment, the kind yet demanding presence gone and replaced with a stiff jaw and hard eyes. He nodded slowly and whipped out a piece of parchment with the official Ministry seal blaring at the top of it. He pointed his wand at it and his signature sprawled across the bottom.

"As Minister for Magic, by the Ministry of Magic, I order you to arrest and detain Benjamin Yew and anyone who gets in the way," he commanded as the warrant floated to Harry. "By any means necessary."

The Order didn't have to wait a single beat before they dispersed into time and space matter, disappearing from the spot. Harry grabbed Snape's hand which earned him a scowl, but he simply raised his Department of Magical Law Enforcement badge from his lapel, as if it explained everything.

Snape found himself at the steps of the Ministry and gave his guide a questionable look.

"Remember the coins we had for D.A? Hermione modified the magic a bit and applied them to DMLE badges," said Harry as he glanced around at the members of the Order of the Phoenix who followed close beside. "It'll burn when one of the aurors are in trouble, but since I'm Deputy, mine works like a beacon."

Severus was mildly impressed by it all, but he knew he shouldn't be surprised; Hermione Granger was a brilliant witch.

"Benjamin Yew," Harry muttered against the badge. It glowed bright green in his palm before all of the its magic formed into a compass pointing the way to the bastard. Harry nodded to the others and they quickly made their way across the the busy atrium. The arrow shifted downward, towards the court rooms. "To the lifts!"

The Order followed suit with their wands hidden beside them, weaving through the crowd with the elevators in their sights. Suddenly, the Ministry walls shook and the glass from the offices that overlooked them shattered, raining down on the unexpected crowd. Gasps and shrieks echoed, and everyone stilled for a moment, unsure of what was happening. Another quake rumbled through the atrium and the floor under the historical statue exploded through, sending marble heads and blocks catapulting through the air. The atrium unleashed in mayhem as workers and civilians ran for their lives, throwing themselves into any floo network they could find; some diligent veterans guided the masses away, their wands rearing to go.

The Order was thrown to the floor and nearly crushed by the stampede of petrified people. Snape helped Harry and Neville to their feet as others pulled those trapped under debris to safety. Through the cries of fear, Snape could hear the muffled echoes of a fight beneath them, and then silence. A figure then emerged from the crater, enchanted debris of marble following his footsteps, paving way for his ascension.

Benjamin Yew stood a few feet above them, a knowing and evil glint in his eye, as well as several nameless aurors who began casting hexes aimlessly into the crowd. He began laughing through his taunting grin as the Order scurried to attack; their spells bounced off an invisible force surrounding him and his comrades with ease and destroyed what little was left supporting the Ministry of Magic. Those with the tact to defend and fight shot their wands above them.

"Protego Maxima!" Echoed a uniformed cry of dozens.

Beams of magic shot out from their wands as a fortified shield began to dome across the quickly dissipating space between the innocent and their death by stone. Pillars and concrete smashed against the magical barrier, dissolving into dust. The Ministry still shook uneasily, and they knew they were mere moments away from being crushed.

"Snape! Get him!" Shouted Harry as he struggled to keep his magic flowing. Severus' eyes found Benjamin Yew and he sent another curse flying his way.

Benjamin blocked it easily, still protected by the distance his enchanted steps provided him and the barrier around. He grinned at his attacker in a maniac way that made him look like a completely different person. He grabbed the DMLE badge from his chest and ripped it off, throwing it at Snape and Harry.

"I'll be seeing you, Severus Snape. I'll tell the mudblood you say goodbye."

Snape's shield penetrating spell shattered the protection around the crazed man, but he was too late. Benjamin and his crew of deflected aurors apparated in a black cloud of wisps. Snape's eyes widened.

Death Eater.

. . . . . . .

The days following the attack and reveal of Benjamin Yew were long and haunting. Harry and the others teamed together to restore the Ministry to its former glory, committing long hours to its fix, and returned to Grimmauld Place nightly to conduct operations. The American's face was already splattered across Britain and the _Daily Prophet,_ displaying "Approach with Warning" vividly below his picture.

Severus was absolutely miserable at Esther Estate without Hermione around. He nearly drank himself into a coma on the fifth night of her disappearance, pacing the library with Crookshanks in tow.

He never heard of Benjamin Yew until he came back to Great Britain; he was no Death Eater during Snape's time in the ranks, and this assumption alone was driving the man crazy. The worst scenario he thought possible was that Voldemort was back, healing and resourcing remotely, with Yew as his hound of death—but nothing seemed like the Dark Lord. It was much too subtle, lacking all the arrogance and replaced by truly cunning strategies. Because of this, Snape urged Harry to contact MACUSA about their transfer.

Snape was tending to his fourth drink when the floo flared to life behind him, causing him to whip out his wand. Potter came through and gave him a surprised look, his wand also at the ready. The boy looked from Snape's wand to his drink, lowering his own and frowning.

"I think there's a law about using magic while drinking," said Harry in a rather matter-of-fact way that was reminiscent of Hermione. Snape scowled and drank the rest of his scotch in a single gulp; he shook the empty glass with a smirk, his wand still out. Harry grinned. "Prat."

"So I've been told," drawled Snape. "What of MACUSA?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably and shook a pile of papers in his hand. He sat down and haphazardly threw them onto the coffee table before collapsing into his hands. He sighed deeply, tortured.

"Benjamin Yew was never sent here as a transfer. All the paperwork—it was forged. There's been a missing person's report in the states dating six months before he arrived here," said Harry. "I explained the situation to their Department Head and he sent me all of Yew's professional history. There's nothing to suggest his allegiance to the dark, even in the U.S."

"We both know that doesn't mean anything."

"I know," sighed Harry. "I don't have much to go on. No incentive, no history to figure out a pattern. His record is clean."

"He came here for a reason. And that reason, whether it was to kill Malfoy or something more, is his incentive," Snape said slowly. "He has Hermione. He is most likely behind the killing of that healer, and Hermione's capture years ago. And since then, he has tried to insert himself into any bit of here life that she would allow. It's true sociopathic behavior. I think Hermione has been the target all this time."

Harry was quiet for a moment.

"Your name was also on that parchment in the healer's mouth," Harry said quietly. His eyes slowly found Snape's, and the man nodded at him.

"I think he expects me to come to them. But I have no idea where to start."

 **A/N: I decided post the last chapter I have done since you all have been so patient with me during my huge move. Hopefully I'll get more work done between job interviews and during 'me' time, because this move has definitely triggered my introverted tendencies. Much love!**


	24. Sheep's Clothing

Sheep's Clothing

Hermione awoke to find herself before the headstone of her late lover and blinked away the daze. Her head was pounding, and her feet were bare against the neatly trimmed grass, slowly massaging her toes into the earth.  
"What...am I doing...here?" She mumbled to herself, her head lazily rolling side to side to look around. She groaned when the movement made her nauseous. Her thoughts were jumbled and slow as she turned heel to make her way through Godric's Hollow; she felt drunk, maybe drugged-or both- as her eyes glazed over the painfully slow by passers, one blurring into the other, their voices groggy and slurring. She couldn't make out their words, their questions and panic.

Hermione stumbled and when she stared down at herself, she slowly realized she was still wearing the dress from the Victory Banquet, though it was mildly tattered and dirty. She felt her body for her wand, disappointed when she couldn't feel it

"Damn," she muttered. She felt a wave of nausea pull at her belly button again and she staggered on spot. Strong hands caught her and when she looked up, she felt safe instantly, as the spectacled green eyes she grew up with stared back at her, full of relief and emotion.

"Hermione! Where have you been?!"

She felt the familiar tug of apparition and groaned; when her feet felt the cold touch of marble, she vomited and nearly dropped to the ground. She grumbled as Harry brought her back to her feet and whipped her head around unsteadily as she made out the familiar walls of St. Mungo's.

"Sorry, 'Mione," apologized Harry as he helped her to the receptionist. The nurse looked up and jumped, sending for healers right away.

"Harry...what happened, Harry?" asked Hermione, slurring.

"That's what we would like to know," he said. In no time at all, three healers were on them, pulling Hermione easily onto a transport bed where she threw herself back with a moan; their bustling voices were like nails on a chalk board for her, even Harry's soft words of affirmation drilled through her skull.

"Please, just...stop...talking," growled the young girl. The healers immediately ceased and cast each other nervous looks. Harry couldn't help but chuckle as he pushed her now unruly hair from her forehead. She smiled at him weakly for a moment before her face crumpled in confusion. "The banquet...how..."

"I'll explain everything later. Right now, let the healers take care of you, okay?" Said Harry in a tone. He kept smiling at her reassuringly but deep down he was a ball of nerves; seeing her in this place again after being missing for days brought back awful memories. Regardless, he knew he had to keep her calm.

She grumbled in annoyance and easily allowed the healers to move her body any which way once they got her into a treatment room, away from wandering eyes and loose lips. The last thing they needed was an influx of journalists at their doors. Once the healers slipped Hermione into a gown, they immediately began running diagnostic spells over her body, working frantically over her. Her eyes never moved from Harry's form in the hallway, her motor skills melted from whatever potion or spell was cast on her; soon she felt her heart beginning to race, her breath matching, and memories of her previous visit to St Mungos intruded her thoughts violently, ripping her out of her stupor.

"H-Harry!" Hermione called out. She began pushing herself up and yanked her arm from a healer who was examining bruises imprinted on it. Hermione felt the panic when the healers began restraining her. "Harry!"

He stopped his pacing and ran to her, grasping her hand in reassurance and looking straight into her eyes.

"Mione, you gotta calm down. You're at St Mungo's, remember? They're just checking you to make sure you're okay."

Hermione's eyes frantically looked at the healers' faces that stared down at her in sympathy. She saw their eyes and read their name tags aloud; she registered their gloved, cold hands on her skin. Finally grounding herself, she released a soft sigh and nodded as she laid back down.

Two healers made moves to touch her again until the only female raised her hand to stop them. She was older, with dark hair and eyes wizened by the years; Hermione figured she looked like her mother, a bit. The healer, who Hermione knew went by Healer Flanagan, according to her tag, offered a small smile to her patient.

"Miss Granger, we are going to touch you again, if that is okay. We will run diagnostics for curses and dark magic, as well as physical injuries," she said kindly yet firmly. The healer glanced at Harry for a moment. "Also, with your permission Miss Granger, we may need to check... _all_ areas, to make sure you did not experience any sexual assault."

Hermione nodded with consent, looking back up at her best friend, whose stomach rolled at the thought that something like _that_ could have happened to her. He sat beside her but out of the way for almost an hour until the healer shoo'd him to the hallway; his friend protested at first, but the healers were adamant about privacy for this part of her exam. The two Male healers waited with Harry in the hallway for a few moments until they were allowed back in.

"Miss Granger, you are only mildly concussed and have a few bruises on your arms," said Healer Flanagan. "Later, if you're feeling up to it, we can extract memories from the last few days to see if you have any subconscious recollection of your kidnapping."

"Kidnapping? _Days?_ "

The healer glanced at Harry. "I suppose Mr. Potter will explain things. We will check on you in thirty minutes. In the meanwhile, visitors are welcome, though if I find you are overexerting yourself, they may not stay."

The healer dipped her head respectfully and exited, leaving the friends to themselves. Hermione raised a brow to Harry, impatiently waiting for some sort of clarification on the last few days. Although she was cleared of any major injury or dark magic, there was a familiar unsettling feeling brewing beneath the surface; she felt like ants were scrambling over her body, making her want to jump out of her skin. She was growing agitated with increased anxiety knowing she would be stuck in this room for Gods know how long.

Harry quickly explained the happenings at the Victory Banquet, for it happened so fast and abruptly no one saw it coming. He explained that Aurors were posted all over the grounds, ensuring no wards were triggered or disturbed; after she was abducted, there was a thorough check of the venue-with all wards still in place-before a nonstop inquisition throughout magical Britain.

Hermione was quiet, trying to recall any memories from the banquet and her days missing in action. She couldn't think of anything, except for _him._

"Where is Severus?" asked Hermione. Harry gave her a strange look and she looked away from him with her arms crossed, annoyed that she sounded needy. She glanced back at him. "And Ginny. Are they okay?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, they're fine. I'll send them a patronus, Kingsley too. He'll want to know that you're alive."

In a few short moments, Ginny came barreling in the room, her dress covered in flour. She looked beyond frazzled and nearly trampled Harry out of the way as she made to grasp her friend in a bear hug. A sob escaped her as she pulled away and took in the sight of Hermione and her bruises. She was nearly in tears.

"I thought you were gone forever," whispered the red head, squeezing her hand a bit. "It felt like I was at the battle all over again… that feeling of loss."

Ginny sniffled some more and Hermione smiled gently at her. She knew her friend was overwhelmed with emotion from the anniversary of the horrid day already and she couldn't help to feel a bit guilty being the cause if her friend's anguish. Hermione began feeling like a burden, though she wouldn't tell anyone; she didn't understand why these things kept happening. She knew she was strong, both magically and mentally, but she could not grasp why the cosmos was adamant about her downfall.

"I'm back now, Ginny. Just some bumps and bruises, is all," reassured Hermione as she waved her arms around a bit to show her minor injuries. Ginny's eyes widened a bit.

"'Just'? Hermione, those bruises are from fingertips. Someone manhandled you!"

The room door snapped open and Severus Snape stood staring at them, his chest heaving with labored breathing, though his face was blank. He did not acknowledge the Potters until Harry nudged Ginny to make their exit.

"We'll be just outside," said Harry. Snape nodded but almost rolled his eyes at the red head's knowing smirk she cast before disappearing into the hallway.

Severus took in his warden for a moment; she still had remnants of make up on her face and her hair fell unruly from her bun. She almost looked like a wood nymph. His eyes scanned over the bruises and scrapes on her neck and busted lip, nostrils flaring at the proof of violence she endured once again

"Snape," she breathed. She held her hand out, signaling him to sit. He obeyed though brought himself closer. She was smiling at him groggily and he couldn't help himself but to touch her. He brought his hand to her face and caressed her high cheeks with the hesitancy of first love. Closing her eyes, Hermione hummed, clearly content, and tilted her head into his palm.

"Hermione," he said softly as he brought his other hand to her cheek. Such relief washed over him, calming his thoughts and worries; the feeling gave him instant clarity of where he stood in life, at this exact moment, and he found himself nearly pulling the girl to his chest.

Snape almost didn't notice her instant change when he spoke, or that her eyes shot open and held neither warmth nor life in them as she lunged forward off the bed. Hermione grasped Snape around the neck and dug her manicured nails into the soft flesh of his scars, her knees pressed violently into his shoulders. She pressed down with all her weight which caused the man to gasp as he choked. He was entirely caught off guard but tried to buck the young woman off his body as he struggled for breath.

"H-Hermione," he rasped, bucking again and trying to release his arms. Her eyes glazed over for a moment before her hands tightened, causing him to crash under her. He didn't understand what was happening or why he could not release himself. Where did all this strength come from?

" _Filthy half-blood! Traitorous bastard!"_ sneered the girl. Severus tried to move, almost throwing Hermione from him, but only causing the chair and tray table to crash to the floor. At the sound of the ruckus, Harry and Ginny burst through the doors with their wands at the ready, though were not alone. Kingsley and the Weasley clan trickled in, all ready to fight, and all equally stunned by the sight before them.

Harry rushed forward and yanked his best friend off the Potions Master and, in doing so, earned himself a beastly snarl from the girl that shocked him. Snape began rising to his feet as he tended to his swollen neck and staggered slightly.

"What the _hell_ Hermione!" yelled Harry. She broke from his grasp and lunged at Snape once more, successfully digging her fingers around his windpipe.

She stared into Snape's obsidian eyes with the gaze of a vacant husk; the only thing that suggested any sort of emotion was the wicked and crazed smile she wore. The haze over her usually lively eyes faltered a little, and that's when Snape saw it. He knew it.

He shoved her off and quickly cast a shield charm, one that she bounced off when she charged at him again

"Get a healer!" snapped Snape, waving at the onlookers who were so stunned by the happenings that they were frozen in place. " _Now!"_ He turned to Harry who held Hermione's arms tightly to her side. "She's under a curse!"

"But the healers checked her!"

Hermione laughed, though it was not humorous. She stilled in Harry's arms, her eyes boring into Snape's in such a way it unnerved him. When she spoke, her voice was twisted with another's.

" _Snape rather had been fucking mudbloods like me instead of ensuring the Dark Lord's future,_ " she sneered once again. Molly gasped at her vulgarity, though it was clear everyone was entirely enthralled by the two voices that rasped from Hermione's throat to notice. The girl laughed again. " _You could have had all the mudbloods you wanted if you weren't such a traitorous snake. But no worries, Snape, you will get what you deserve. And, so will I_."

Snape did not speak. _Where are the damn healers?!_

"What is happening…"

"Severus," came Kingsley's voice. He looked at the minister. "We-"

"Tell me, _Severus,"_ purred Hermione. Her smile was devious, seductive even, but he knew better. Her voice sounded more like her own, but the harsh undertones were still there. "Do you think of my tight ass and pretty little mouth around your cock when you touch yourself? I know _I_ do. But that will change once I go to _him—"_

Before Snape could react, Harry cast a silencing charm over his friend. His cheeks were red either out of embarrassment or anger, one couldn't tell. The young man didn't meet Snape's eyes and when he looked around, he realized none of them could; George was tending to Molly in the hallway and Kingsley was keeping curious patrons from getting closer. Arthur's hands dug painfully into his daughter's shoulder as she was the only one who stared at him, frightfully so.

"That voice," she said, trembling. "I know that voice… I've heard it, fourth year, at—"

"At the Department of Mysteries," finished Harry. He looked up at his former professor finally.

"Dolohov," answered Snape. His eyes fell on the purple scar that spider webbed from behind Hermione's collar.

 **A/N: Thanks so much for bearing with me. I've been in a bit of a slump adjusting to life in the states again. I really miss Germany and I'm having a hard time finding a job. I hope this chapter finds you all well and you enjoy it—I know it's been way later than imagined. I hope to get another up later this week or at the beginning of next. Much love.**


	25. Valhall Awaits Me

**Valhall Awaits Me**

Severus carefully tended to the harsh bruises that marred the skin on his already sensitive neck; they were dark and violent, and the assault made his vocal cords ache to talk. He gently applied the healing salve, wincing when he pressed too hard, and watched as they slowly began fading to yellow. He met his own eyes and dived into the labyrinth of his mind, recounting the morbid events from the night prior.

Dolohov was a distant memory up until Hermione's disappearance. No one heard from him nor spoke of him, and he slid from society's mind like the slithering eel he was. Snape felt mild shame in the relaxation that came over him in the short matter of time he had been back in the United Kingdoms—he should have saw this coming. He should have been diligently aware that a Death Eater like him could be behind every shadow and corner.

It made sense, now that he thought of it. The purple scar that webbed across Hermione's body was a promise for a later, though he knew Dolohov dealt in the collection of bones and dead bodies for debts owed to him. Hermione had gotten away that night at the Department of Mysteries—out of sheer luck. Dolohov was crazed, he had always been; Snape knew the fact that Hermione's escape from his grimy clutches was ingrained in the Death Eater's warped mind and was reason enough and alone to target her.

Snape was just a bonus to the package.

He pulled himself from his thoughts when the door pushed open a bit behind him and a deep meow greeted him. Crookshanks jumped on the sink, wrapping his giant tail around his feet, and blinked slowly at the dark man. He meowed again, flicking his tail impatiently.

"She's awake, I assume," said Snape, twisting the lid on the salve. Crookshanks jumped down and wove between Snape's legs, arching his back as he rubbed against him. Snape untangled himself from the beast and watched as he sprung forward and down the hall to Hermione's room. Snape followed suit, anxiety vibrating throughout his body as he got closer. Ginny and Harry waited at her door, as did Crookshanks, surprisingly enough; the orange ball of fluff proved quite territorial in the last twenty-four hours when the healer came to examine his Mistress, so much that he was uncharacteristically rude to Ginny—his second favorite—and nipped her in the finger when she tried to move him from Hermione's door.

"Hermione is asking for you," said Harry, messing his hair. "Er, just you. I want to respect her wishes but…"

"We don't want her to rip your throat out—literally," finished Ginny, peaking into the room.

Snape did not reply but simply pushed through the door, gently closing it behind him. Hermione's room was dim, but he could make out the dozens of books she had neatly organized in the shelves against her wall and a small desk covered in parchment and ink. Moonlight shone through the curtains of her cracked French doors, a slight wind threatening lit candles. His eyes rolled to the ceiling, which was enchanted like the night sky, and he allowed himself a smile; he wondered if she charmed it that way to remind her of Hogwarts.

"Severus," came a quiet voice through the dimness. Hermione's pale face turned to him from her giant bed, almost blending in with the mounds of blankets she was engulfed in. She sat up and extended her hand to him only to recoil with a hiss.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he drew closer. He lit a few more candles in the too dim room and made to sit on her bed before the young women scurried away, her palms facing him and swearing under her breath.

"Stop," she said firmly. "Not too close, I could…"

Severus saw it then, the painful burn marks and slight gleam of magic that coiled around her wrists. "Who—"

"I did," said Hermione. She raised her hands slowly, gauging her restraints. "I couldn't risk hurting someone again. This was the only way."

Severus stared blankly at the woman before him who, despite all her torture and the violence committed against her, continued to put the needs of those around her before her own—and it kind of aggravated him. He did not find it admirable this time around, a time he felt would be completely understandable for the girl to be selfish. He raised his wand and waved it over her arms to free her despite her protests.

"Snape—"

He slid into the bed and pulled her to his chest, his deft hands tangling in her mess of curls; Snape felt an overwhelming burst of emotion tighten in his chest, so strong it almost made him sob. His hands danced over Hermione's arms before carefully raising her injured wrists to his lips. Hermione stilled before him as she watched how the muscles in his face moved and allowed herself to _feel_ both the warmth and chills the man caused her.

"Severus—"

"You see? You don't need to be bound," said Severus, quietly. He still held her, though his fingers caressed her absently. "You will not hurt me. I trust you, Hermione."

Hermione visibly eased and rested her head on his shoulder. She shook silently and released a crackling sigh.

"I am so sorry, Severus," whispered Hermione as she hid her face against him. Snape lifted her to face him, running a gentle hand over her face and hair.

"Hermione look at me," said Severus, his voice soft and deep. Her large eyes looked up at him from under thick lashes. They bore into him—through him, even. "I do not feel I need to say this, but I'm aware it's what you need to hear. You did not mean to hurt me, but I forgive you, Hermione. I will always forgive you."

Hermione's face cracked and the proverbial dam that prevented her from feeling the very worst parts, finally shattered, and the overflow of emotion came wailing from her mouth in both relief and agony. Her hair stuck to her tear-stained face and she clutched Severus' robes as if they were her anchor between the edge she teetered on and sanity. Her cries were deafening and full of so much pain, it sucked him into her world, and Severus didn't realize Harry and Ginny had stormed into the room. He shook his head at them as they grew closer and simply…held Hermione as she felt every loss, frustration, anger and suffering she had once kept in neat compartments within her psyche, all at once. Her body quaked and Severus held her tighter, compressing her body in hopes of giving her the support she needed, which only caused her to cry harder and frantically try to form words amidst her break down.

"I've got you Hermione," Severus muttered just loud enough for her to hear. Ginny pulled her husband's hand lightly to usher him from the room; his face was both hard and full of turmoil at the same time, but he followed her out.

Hermione's cries didn't let up until sometime later where she was beyond the point of tears. Severus laid back against her mountain of pillows and held her on his chest as he drew careless designs over her back and arms. Her curls engulfed him, but he didn't mind; from this angle, he could appreciate the beautiful sight of her face and soft jaw line, down her long neck as she breathed against him. He could see her long lashes brush her cheek as she was still awake, avoiding his eyes, no doubt.

"When I close my eyes, I can see—even smell—parts of my captivity. There is this _swooshing_ sound, like displaced air—like a jump rope. I can taste and smell the ocean. I could feel this magic that is _so_ familiar, but it's far," she suddenly said. His hand ceased for a moment. "I think I was underground."

"Maybe a cave?" offered Snape.

She was silent, her breathing somewhat haggard and her body tense; Severus was preparing himself for another breakdown. He was caught off guard when she sat up straight and darted off the bed, crossing the large chamber in quick steps and running a shaking hand over her books. Severus watched her silently, listening to her muttering and making absolutely no sense of it.

"Hermione?"

She snatched a book from the highest shelf and began fingering through the pages, slowly walking back to him. Severus kept his eyes on her face, not realizing she was clothed in only a short shirt that did nothing to cover her panties and pleasant behind. He felt warmth touch his cheeks and audibly gulped. Hermione didn't seem to notice and only whipped the large tome around for him to see its tattered and aged pages; a large and simplified blue print of Azkaban's infrastructure was draw across it, dulled by time and water stains. Lines stretched from different parts of the design with small scrawled notes detailing uses and dimensions.

"The familiar magic I felt," she began slowly as she tapped her finger against the image. "It was faint, but it was the charms around Azkaban."

Severus said nothing, not trusting his own words. She sighed in frustration and shook her head, holding the book closer to her face and squinted at the notes.

" _'The following charms will be present to protect all 443 meters of Azkaban Prison…'",_ she repeated. She turned the book to him again but, this time, her fingers slid down to the base of the formidable tower where empty page lie. She tapped them again. "All 443 meters, from base to tip. But I was _underground;_ there was water, there were echoes. The magic—"

"May not surpass the building," finished Snape as he grabbed the book from her and ran coarse fingers over the blank spot that could very well house the darkness that descended on their land. His stomach tightened; he knew this feeling before, this crawling excitement and untamable, animalistic thirst that rushed through his veins. It was the familiar fire of his youth and the darkness he found pleasure in, once upon a time.

He needed to go there. He needed to see if she was right. But, most of all, Severus Snape needed—no, _wanted—_ to kill Dolohov.

Snape snapped the book shut and left it on her bed, ascending without a word and billowed through the door. He felt Hermione at his back as he slammed the door behind him. He heard her call for him in desperation, the sound of her yanking at the door that would not budge and only shook in its frame echoing the hall. Next, the crashes of violent magic against it and Hermione's desperate voice turning angry with curses.

It seemed Esther Estate and Severus were in complete understanding.

 **A/N: Alriiiiight. Thank you once again to everyone who has stuck out with this since last July! My life is still at a standstill. I've had all the time to write but little motivation because my husband and I are still not adjusting well to life after the military. But I also find, for me at least, the feelings during these hard times sometimes inspire. I appreciate everyone's feedback and hope you all continue to enjoy this fic. Much love – Jay**


	26. Breaching Waters

Breach

The moment Snape stepped beyond the threshold of Esther Estate, he apparated and found himself staring up at the towering prison, the waves of the North Sea rarely ceasing and its salt offending the man's nostrils. He knew this was impulsive, but he could not help it; the shadows of his younger self succumbed the light he had nursed, snuffing a decade's worth of personal growth in an instant. Snape shut all the doors in his mind's eye and buried his redemption under the weight of his former self before setting off to investigate the belly of the beast.

Slipping himself down the dunes to the ocean, Snape removed his shoes and outer robe and cast a quick water repellant charm over them before cradling them under his arm. He then cast a Bubble-Head charm and barely waited for the oxygenized barrier to form around his face before diving into the harsh ocean; as he dove deeper, it became darker and the violent thrust of the sea grew vague, allowing him better maneuverability without the fight. He felt as though the sea was devouring him whole as giant kelp greeted him into its home; when he felt he was deep enough to be unnoticed by the charms of Azkaban, Severus began a direct swim towards the rocks and land supporting the dark structure.

Minutes passed and he became concerned with how much time the charm would give him when his _lumos_ lit up a stone wall a few meters before him; shining his light left and right, he could see the island vastly continued, curving into darkness. He swam until his hand touched the cool wall, inserting his fingers into cracks and around protrusions here and there to scale its length in hopes of investigating it more effectively. He began to feel the loss of air through his charm but ignored it as he quickened his inspection of the land until he reached the base of it—several meters down—and saw the huge crater that ripped through it.

Without hesitation, Severus swam through the opening and ascended to the ceiling of the cavern, breaching surface and gasping as the last bit of his charm wore off. He had only a few millimeters of air as he desperately pressed his cheek against the rough rock to angle his mouth and nose away from the water to breathe better. Once his pulse returned to normal, he inhaled deeply before diving once more and pushing forward, where in the short distance he could see the water stop and dry land began.

Snape hauled himself over the edge onto the landing and flipped himself over onto his back as exhaustion impeded his body; he breathed heavily and tossed his cloak and shoes aside as he charmed himself dry before putting them back on and rising to his feet. He held his wand at the ready and listened for a few moments, trying to distinguish the sound of water droplets echoing the cavern from anything more nefarious. When he realized there were no charms present to harm or reveal him, Snape moved onward through a wide tunnel that was as dark as night and overrun by stalagmites and stalactites; he moved deliberately yet cautiously to avoid any accidental impalements, which he thought would be both disappointing and embarrassing considering how hard he worked to get there.

Still, the floor was slick, so anything was possible at this point.

He heard it then, the swooshing sound and gush of air that forced its way through the cavern. The displacement made it hard to breathe and the sound was deafening as the echo of metal barely touching metal descended upon his ears.

 _What the hell_ is _that?,_ he thought, slowing his eager pace as he listened closely.

Suddenly, his body felt like it was struck by lightning as he was sent catapulting backward and crashed painfully against the cavern floor. He gasped as the air was knocked out of him then released an anguish cry; looking down, he saw a mixture of blood and flesh upon a stalagmite that protruded through his outer thigh, keeping his leg up higher than the rest of him at an awkward angle.

"Damnit,"muttered Snape, running a hand over his face as he gazed over his injured leg. He swiped his wand a few millimeters below his leg, slicing the calcium deposit and freeing his leg from the excruciating position. Without much dwelling, he pulled the taper out from its entry point, hissing in anguish and anger, and tossed it aside. He was biting his lip so hard he drew blood. _"Fuck!"_

"I suppose you deserve that for leaving me behind," came an unexpected voice, full of annoyance. Severus turned too fast, wand at the ready, and swore again when he caused more pain to his injury. Hermione stood before him, completely soaked and arms crossed, and he could see the contemplation of abandoning him dance within her eyes. "Stop moving."

She crouched beside him and pressed her hands to his thigh through his torn trousers, causing Snape to hiss and smack her hand away.

"I can handle this myself, Miss Granger," he said through clenched teeth. She rose a brow and pursed her lips.

"I highly doubt that. You don't feel it? All the dark magic in this place? In the walls, the water, and in the stone," she said, her eyes scanning the ceiling. "Everything feels impregnated with darkness. I can feel it humming in my chest…"

Snape eyed her curiously, watching as her hand clenched at her chest and mind grow distant. She was listening to it, he could tell; whatever power she could feel that snaked through the cavern, it sang to Hermione like a siren. Her eyes rose to the darkness Snape was walking towards before magic assaulted him, and that terrifying glaze fogged her eyes.

"Hermione," he said firmly, touching her hand. Hermione blinked a few times as life returned to her eyes and glanced back at him, nodding.

"Right, let's get you out of here."

"God _damnit,_ woman!" snapped Snape as Hermione stood impatiently at the drawn bath, tossing different herbs and tinctures into the hot water, deliberately making eye contact with him as she did so.

"I don't know why you're so up in arms about this, Severus; you nearly collapsed when I pulled you from the cavern. There's most likely dark magic coursing through you right now, and this remedial bath will help," sighed Hermione, screwing the lid on the last jar and casting them back into the cabinet. "Just change and bathe in this for forty minutes.

Hermione didn't wait for him to respond as she tossed a towel at him unceremoniously and exited the bathroom. He heard a soft _thump_ and saw her frizzed hair peak out from beside the doorway, causing him to scoff in annoyance.

"You don't have to stay out there and keep watch, Miss Granger," sneered Snape as he began to undress, staring pointedly at the wall he knew she was on the other side of.

"I want to," she said simply. Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes and positioned himself over the tub, carefully slipping in. He swore loudly when the herbs and magic attacked his injured leg, causing him to lose his grasp and water to splash as he ungracefully crashed in.

" _Fuck!"_ he snapped. He saw stars pulse behind his eyelids as he clawed at his leg; the pain was unbelievable and rivalled any Cruciatus he experienced from the Dark Lord. The pain vibrated from his old hips to his calloused feet, burning like white hot fire and acid. He saw impeding darkness crawl at the corners of his vision as he slurred out whatever words he wanted to speak before his mind began fading into the abyss and his body slip further in the bath.

Within an instant, Snape felt small but strong warms embrace his chest and struggle to lift him alongside the tub, hoisting him from his premature death by drowning. He teetered between consciousness and all he could think about was the soft perfume that was Hermione Granger surrounding him and comforting him like a warm quilt. As he opened his eyes he was met with her haughty face, though, this close, he could see it was a little less so: her cheeks filled more and created deeper dimples he was sure he would see more of whenever she laughed; the darkness under her eyes faded enough to notice, and her skin looked so soft, he almost had to stop himself from reaching out and touching it while in his less than lucid state.

"Severus?" her firm voice broke his daze—only so much—and his eyes heavily blinked up at her.

"Hmph," was all he could muster as he tried to extract his arms from her grasp. She didn't budge though, her hold on him tight. Her hand pressed against his forehead and he groaned involuntarily as the cool relief it provided.

"You're getting a fever," she muttered to herself as she pulled away from him.

 _Don't go…come back_

He lazily leaned his head back against the edge of the tub as he Hermione finger through her herbal dittanies and supplies in the washroom cupboard, standing high on her tippy toes to reach a flask in the back of the tallest shelf. When she turned to face him again, she paused, caught off guard at his relentless staring, and he could feel her withdraw. He slowly raised his hand from the bath and waved it towards him, signaling her to give him the dittany. She silently obeyed and passed him the flask as she crouched beside him, watching him curiously; unhinging the cork, Snape wafted the fumes and his face screwed up in disgust.

"That should help this fever," he said slowly, identifying the strong scent. Both of their faces screwed up at the scented assault and Snape clumsily tossed the metal flash aside the tub. He watched as Hermione moved again, grabbing a cloth and dipping it into the bath before ringing it and laying it across his head. He did not object but stayed silent as she tended to him. The woman sat on the rug beside him, leaning against the porcelain tub for support, and closed her eyes. He could tell she was exhausted still after her days missing, both mentally and physically. Before he thought better, he rested a wet hand against her head, causing her eyes to snap open and turn to him. "Miss Granger, I am in a bath tub…naked."

They stared at each other for a moment, and he watched as Hermione blinked into realization, but was surprised when a cheeky smile threatened the corner of her lip and she snickered uncharacteristically.

"Yes, you are nude," she said. "But I'm comfortable here, and I don't need you to drown in my bathtub. I like this bath tub, I wouldn't want to toss it."

Her dark humor got the best of him—or perhaps it was his hurt and nearly drunken state—and Snape found himself laughing good naturedly at her words; it was a foreign feeling. The smile still played at her face and his lithe fingers wove further into her mass of curls; a small flicker of something flashed across her face for a fleeting moment and he almost withdrew from her until Hermione shifted more comfortably against the tub and closer.

The effects of the dark matter took longer than expected to expel from Snape's body; Hermione had to refill the tub and add potions two more times to heal him. It was an excruciating trial, especially when the fever caused chills and shakes within the man and made him almost unbearable to deal with. Hermione remained patient and kind with her former professor, though firm in her treatment when he tried to convince her otherwise. He knew she was right, he was just annoyed that she was. Still, the young woman could come beside the tub loyally and rest her head against it, and Snape found his fingers exploring through her hair every time.

It was unusual, the feelings that stirred within him, coiling around his heart like a ball python and squeezing it here and there with reminder that he was alive. He stared at her calm face as her eyes laid closed, thinking about his impulsive actions that caused his predicament: naked in a bathtub with Nurse Granger beside him; he prided himself in his cool and collected nature, and anything less was detrimental to his existence. Sitting in this tub right now, he knew that all to be true. Still, Severus could not explain or rationalize the urge that came over him when he left to the dark prison—he didn't even arrive there with a plan! It was pure emotion and a need to protect that fueled him.

 _Protect…_

His mind drifted back to the young woman before him who, despite her unspeakable hardships while still so young, obviously cared for the former Death Eater. It was more than a sense of duty for her; more than her Gryffindor pride and relentlessness. Hermione had shown him true companionship and respect in the past half year—not as teacher and student, Death Eater and Muggle-born, but deafening equality that did not come from fear.

That was why Severus was so quick to defend her existence, and in that moment, he knew this. The bond he had created with her was unlike any before.

 _Except…_

 _No,_ Snape thought to himself as he shook his head. He absently stroked Hermione's scalp. _More than her._

 **A/N: Thank you so much for those who are still following. I'm sorry for the recent hiatus. I just began working as data entry and it's consumed all my time. I'm also about to go through a heartbreaking and sudden divorce so please bare with me. I hope I can write my feelings out so and bring more of this story together over the summer. Thank you for the love. - J**


	27. Time of the Season

**Time of the Season**

 ****Warning** Straight up SMUT**

 _It's the time of the season  
When love runs high  
And this time, give it to me easy  
And let me try with pleasured hands_

 _To take you in the sun to (promised lands)  
To show you every one  
It's the time of the season for loving_

 _-The Zombies_

Hermione woke to an awful, sandpaper-like feeling across her nose. As she blinked away the sleep, she was welcomed by her orange familiar uncharacteristically licking her nose. He breathed heavily as he gazed unblinkingly down at his Mistress, a soft paw out stretched against her face. Crookshanks let out a crunchy meow as his paw proceeded to tap her.

"He ate. Don't let the beast fool you," came Snape's voice from just outside the door. She looked around to see she was laying on the bathroom floor still, though her body was covered in a blanket. When she stood, she saw the tub was cleaned and sparkled, no sign of the dark magic or healing herbs tarnishing it. "I'll make breakfast."

She felt strange energy in the house, something unspoken and growing, but she chose to ignore it as she shut the door and undressed to bathe. The darkness may have been gone from Snape's wound, but Hermione felt it crawling over her like a swarm of ants. She shook the thought and popped the showerhead on, stepping in and relishing in the scalding water that cascade over her. As she began to massage shampoo through her hair, she paused and closed her eyes, finding comfort in a brief memory of Snape's fingers caressing her scalp. She allowed herself a smile.

As Hermione approached the kitchen, she could smell the overwhelming aroma of coffee and pancakes. She inhaled and inwardly groaned, her stomach growling with every step. She turned the corner and paused, her lips parting slightly at the sight before her.

Severus was in loose trousers and a knit Henley top, the sleeves rolled up so she could see every muscle move as he was cutting strawberries. He looked relax, his broad shoulders slack as he leaned lazily against the island. His inky hair was pulled back loosely and haphazardly, and as her eyes roved over him, she smiled at his bare feet against the marble. Her heart fluttered in her chest in a familiar way, but when the anxiety and guilt of her past began threatening, something else defended her. She felt the warmth rush over her body and blush her cheeks, and the restraint she had felt for so long broke.

"I care about you," said Hermione—or rather blurted. She snapped her mouth closed and pursed her lips, her arms cautiously wrapping around herself. Severus stopped his chopping, laid the knife down and looked up at her; Hermione nearly lost her breath at the sparkle she saw within those deep pools that she spent her youth seeing emotionless. They were full of something that made her heart swell. She stepped closer, slowly closing the space between them. Severus straightened and she could see his hands were curled so tightly his knuckles were white.

"I care about you as well, Hermione," he said quietly, looking down at her. She studied his face and saw no lie—how could she possibly? He has had nothing short of her well-being at mind countless times, no matter how unruly he could be. "More so than I care to admit, actually."

Hermione released a breath of relief, her arms falling to her side as she continued to draw closer. "More so than you care to admit?"

She was so close he could smell her body soap and hair products ascend from her; he could count every freckle and scar that etched across her face like tiny constellations of warring gods. Her face told so many stories, both with her mask and without, but in that moment, Severus could read every emotion that flickered across her features. And it made his heart skip a beat.

Slowly, he pulled her closer, his hands dancing lightly at her nape; his leaned his head sideways and offered her a lazy smile, which only squeezed at the girl's heart more.

"Yes," was all he said. She frowned slightly. "You've become very important to me."

 _What am I saying?,_ Snape thought, mentally groaning and berating himself. He felt unsure then, wishing he kept his mouth shut and continued this charade.

"You are important to me, too, Severus," said Hermione. The man laughed despite himself, shaking his head.

"Well, I'm glad we are both on the same page then," he said, slight bitterness in his voice as his hand fell from her form and back to the food. He was surprised when her small hand grabbed his and tugged. He raised a brow at her.

"I'm not good at this sort of thing…anymore," she breathed, squeezing his hand in both of hers. "I-I am not a whole woman, Snape, I have many scars. I've been broken countless times. But you know that—you've been through it yourself. And I've shown you, yet you're still here."

"To be fair, I am also still here because someone took an Unbreakable Vow," he snorted, earning himself a half-annoyed eye roll from the young lioness. He fought a smirk.

"I don't mean _here_ here, I meant…with me. Beside me." She paused, then brought his hand to her chest. He stiffened at proximity of his hand he only ever dreamt of being, until he felt the erratic pounding of her heart against his palm, a beat off from his own pulse. "I _care_ about you, Snape. The way I cared about Ron."

Snape was beside himself, and it took only a brief moment for his restraint and internal chains to unhinge. He descended on her, craning down to capture her lips once more. His hands cupped her face and his thumbs ran gentle circles on her prominent cheek bones before trailing to her lower back and pulling her close. Hermione quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her chest against his, breathing heavily before prying his lips with her tongue and exploring his strawberry flavored mouth; she elicited a quiet moan from the man that shot straight between her legs. She pulled away, chest heaving.

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered. "We don't…"

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," breathed Snape, slowly moving his arms from her. She grew close again, not allowing his embrace to escape her. "You're in control here, Hermione. You always will be."

Hermione eyed him curiously for a moment, once again looking for signs of deceit and finding none; she carefully ascended to the tips of her toes before her hands found his collar, pulling his face down to meet her swollen lips, and she put every feeling she could recognize but couldn't verbalize into kissing him once more. It was agonizing slow and full of a passion Snape never felt before; tender and explorative, with a hint of the rush he knew they were both fighting against. His hands held her waist tightly, then descended over the full mounds of her bottom to lift her up onto the kitchen island; she let out a laugh of surprise and he smiled against her erotic mouth. Snape's skilled fingers danced across her body, up her nape, and into her ringlets, pulling her head back gently to expose the soft skin of her neck. He trailed slowly down her cheek before planting open mouthed kisses across her pulse point and shoulder. A small gasp escaped her, and when her legs wrapped themselves around his waist like a vice grip, he knew he was done for.

"Hermione," he breathed, pulling from her for a moment. Her eyes fluttered open, disappointed at the loss of contact. "Tell me to stop, Hermione. And this doesn't have to go any further."

Hermione tightened her legs once more, causing the man to groan. Her voice was barely a whisper, full of liquid sex and need. "No."

That was all he needed. Before he knew it, they were in the hallway and his shirt was flung, caught on the bannister as he was pushed towards his chamber by a small yet powerful (and _very_ aroused) witch. She assaulted his lips, neck and chest with her delicious mouth, her hands exploring the ridges of his back and broad chest. As they grew closer, he lifted her once more, his hands firmly grasping and caressing her bottom as his mouth sucked on the delicate skin at the base of her neck and shoulder. She whined softly, a sound that pulled at his balls and pulsated through his member. He pinned her against the wall beside his doorway and ran his hand under her top and over her breasts, softly caressing them through her lacey number; he was rewarded with an airy sigh and her heat grinding against his own.

"Bed," croaked Hermione, her back arching against the wall. Snape didn't need to be asked twice.

He carefully laid her on his perfectly made bed, standing above her almost nude form. She laid bare in just her underwear, and he could see her pert nipples erect through her lace black bra, calling for his mouth to tend to them. But he waited, his eyes dancing across her body and appreciating the beauty before him. Her body was riddled with scars and discoloration, not much different from his own. Her stomach and thighs were soft and curved, as was her ass from what he earlier felt—she was Aphrodite incarnate gracing his chambers. When his eyes returned to her face, he noticed she, too, was appreciating his form above her. She blinked and eyes widened for a brief moment of being caught ogling, until they both laughed at the incredulity of that after everything that has happened up til now.

Snape leaned onto the bed, his mouth descending on her supple thighs as he kissed and licked his path to her mouth. He groaned and felt his arousal harden as he smelled the sweet nectar radiate from the apex of her thighs. He kissed her mound over her sheer panties, causing her to quiver and tighten her thighs. He looked up at her.

"May I?" he asked, his voice dripping with need. Her eyes darkened and she nodded, but not before freeing herself of her bra. Snape slid his body across her, hoisting himself up by his elbows, and gently cupped her breasts, slowly and cruelly toying with her nipples. He caught one between his teeth and felt her jolt under him, her back arching, urging him to mouth more.

He obeyed, teasingly slow.

His hand kneaded and squeezed, trading off between the two supple mounds of flesh. Between touch and the gentle sounds that escaped the woman under him, Severus was in pure euphoric ecstasy; he watched her watch his every move, her eyes heavily following his trek across her chest. Her face softened slightly, and she entwined her fingers in his hair, holding him close to her chest, before pulling him in for another kiss.

"Severus…" she said softly. He rolled her nipple under his fingers again, earning yet another airy sigh. "I want all of you."

He stopped for a moment, their face mere inches from one another, with reality truly setting in.

He would set the world on fire for Hermione Granger, if she asked.

Severus could feel her stomach twitch under his touch as he slid his hand down her front, gently brushing the tips against her panty line. Hermione's legs were relaxed as she spread herself slightly—an invitation Snape could have howled to the Gods for. He slipped an eager finger into her heat and was overwhelmed by the sticky warmth that greeted him. Finding her bundle of nerves, Snape encircled long and wide around it and watched her face for a reaction. Hermione's thighs twitched and hips rolled to meet his touch as her hands grasped his forearms tightly; she was not prepared to feel pleasure like this—or any pleasure, really—ever again, and her body felt like fire. Rolling her head to the side, she pressed gentle kisses against the pulse of his other wrist, her brows furrowed with emotion.

Curling his finger downward, Snape slid through her folds and worked his fingers within her, inserting one then another, slowly pumping in and out, in and out, until he thrust knuckle deep and curved his digit against her g-spot. He could feel her walls tighten around him and he let out an audible moan.

"Fuck, Hermione, you feel amazing," he muttered in a low voice before withdrawing his hand from her, sliding down to her apex and removing her panties. Her musk was sweet and unique to her, and it enthralled him the moment he smelled it and saw it. Her sex glistened with the wetness _he_ caused, which only stroked his primal nature to a boiling point. He eagerly pressed his nose against her, eliciting a gasp of surprise, before running his tongue flat against her from cunt to clit, savoring every drop on his taste buds. He thought he couldn't harden more, but Hermione released a long, sensual moan and rose her hips against his face, he thought he would come right then and there.

Still, he paced himself—he wanted to make sure she felt every bit as good as she deserved before anything. Snape rested his palms on her inner thighs, massaging her up to her hip bones as his tongue worked gentle laps against her clit. He circled her slowly, gauging the pressure off her body language and vocals, tearing away to slide his tongue within her when her breathing grew erratic; replacing his tongue with his fingers, he thrust them within her once more and sucked her clit into his mouth fervently. He groaned when he felt her walls tighten around him once more, yet no release. When he felt her hands touch his head, he stopped for a moment and looked at her with question but was completely blindsided by the wild form before him. Her chest and face were red with the rising heat, breasts heaving up and down, and her hair a wild mane around him.

"I want you, Snape," she breathed. Before Snape could react, the girl slid her legs under her and crouched before him, placing a firm hand against his chest and pushing him down against the bed. Severus obeyed and fought hard to conceal both his excitement and nervousness. Hermione crawled over him like a predator, kissing and licking over his chest teasingly, which caused an involuntary growl to escape the man's chest. She stopped for a moment with her lips slightly parted as a light giggle erupted from her. A sexy one, at that. She straddled him and bowed down to cup his face.

Severus felt his breath leave him as if from a blow to the chest. Her eyes held such deep emotion, it practically radiated from her; Hermione stroked his cheek bones with eager hands, her eyes zipping across his face and brows pulled in a familiar way from her childhood, when her nose was stuck in a large tome before exams; Hermione was cataloguing his features of this exact moment, the way his jaw was relaxed, almost slack, and the slight upturn curve of his lips; the prickly stubble that tickled her hands, and unguarded eyes.

Her mouth broke into a soft and warm smile that turned into a Cheshire cat grin when she sank on his length; she quivered as they both moaned in mutual pleasure. Snape's hands rested on her lower back, smoothing over her ass and grasping it firmly as she rose and sank, meeting his deep thrusts in rhythm. Hermione huffed as she supported her hands against chest, her head thrown back in pure bliss as she rolled her hips and rode. She mewled and gasped when he slipped deeper, hitting her insides at just the right angle, causing her arms to give way and melted against him, chest to chest. Snape shifted down and angled his hips up more, allowing himself better access to her hot core and moaned at the feeling and sound of her cheeks against his skin. One hand still on her bottom and the other deep in her hair, Snape pulled her face to him and shoved his tongue against her own as the pressure built up between them, pulling away only here and there for a gasp of breath.

"Oh, Severus!" gasped Hermione as she spread her legs wider, desperately clinging to the friction against her clit and depth of his length within her. The sound of skin smacking on skin was further arousing, and echoed in mix with his grunts and her panting. "Yes…yes, yes, yes."

"Come for me, Hermione," he commanded softly in her ear. It was all she needed. Snape saw stars when her walls contracted around him in a vice grip, pressure shooting around his head and bringing forth his own orgasm. His pulsing and her tightening fought for dominance between their cores, and Snape rode out the pure ecstasy in long, hard strokes as she came around him. Hermione's song grew louder with every wave of pleasure as she met his shaft in full.

"Fuck!" he growled, capturing her panting mouth with his own, his thrusts slowing as his legs shook with electricity.

There she lay next to him, entwined his in arms and body: a wild-haired, fallen angel entangled in white sheets, her perfect mouth slightly open as she slept soundly. A true vision. His eyes rolled over her form with great appreciation and want that he could feel his arousal heating up again. He stifled it, just wanting to bask in the sight of a beautiful woman that he, no longer regrettable so, ended up caring for; a woman who saw him for who he was but, most of all, who he has become, for they were not so different after all. His comforting solitude countries away could not hold a light to the warmth he now felt radiating in his chest as he mulled over the soft and patient happenings of the night.

Hermione Granger. She is what is familiar now. _Perhaps more than that_ , he thought as memories of their time shared the last half year lit his mind's eye. It seemed so long ago that he was at the sticky end of her resentment that he smiled now to think of it. Pressing a gentle kiss to her head that rested against his chest, he soon allowed sleep to beckon him—even if it was almost noon.

 **A/N: Phew. Uh, Surprise?**


End file.
